Kidnapped for Christmas
by JA Mash
Summary: Edward, a college drop-out, unlucky in love and a self-professed "loser" finds himself at the end of his rope. His girlfriend, Irina, has ditched him at the last moment, right before the family Christmas dinner Edward's planned to bring her to, and thanks to an untimely phone call from his mother; his family thinks Irina is still coming.
1. Chapter 1

**Summary:**

Edward, a college drop-out, unlucky in love and a self-professed "loser" finds himself at the end of his rope. His girlfriend, Irina, has ditched him at the last moment, right before the family Christmas dinner Edward's planned to bring her to, and thanks to an untimely phone call from his mother; his family thinks Irina is still coming.

A series of uncomfortable moments later—including awkward phone calls to his exes, a terrible trip to the mall with is best friend where they were escorted out by security, and a run in with a schizophrenic who thought Edward was trying to take her into a secret government lab—and Edward has Isabella—an angry, former lawyer who's dedicated her life to charity work—handcuffed in his car, blackmailed and forced into pretending to be his girlfriend. As the holiday stretches on and the charade he's involved in becomes less and less a lie, Edward is only sure of one thing: he should stop listening to Jake.

* * *

**1.**

Edward Cullen is a loser.

It's a fact. Edward Cullen is an uncool, no good, college dropout, _dateless _loser.

And he's starting to think that's never going to change.

"So she just broke it off? And left the country? Just like that?"

Edward takes a swig from the tequila bottle. It's late enough—and he's drunk enough—to not care about the lack of shot glasses or cups, or the lack of salt or lemons and really, by now he's so numb he doesn't even feel the burn as he gulps the alcohol down.

And it's still not numb enough.

"Yeah," he says, and takes another drink before passing the bottle to Jake. Except he's sprawled out on the entire couch which means that Jake is in the ragged arm chair four feet away, and he can't quite get the bottle to him. It slips from his fingers and Jake dives for it, saving the tequila from falling to the floor and dumping all over Edward's ugly, brownish green carpet. The move looks impossibly fast to Edward and he entertains the thought that for the first time ever, he might actually be drunker than Jake.

Drunker. More drunk? The drunk_est._

That's right. He is the drunkest. The drunkest drunk who ever drunked.

He would think that was something to be proud of, since it's never happened before, but being more trashed than _Jake_, a man who considered getting wasted every other night and waking up, still drunk in a stranger's house to take a piss in a corner before passing out again, as a _positive _use of his time, is not exactly something Edward has ever aspired to.

Just more proof that his current loser status is not likely to change.

"That sucks, man." Jake takes his own gulp of tequila and Edward decides this is good. He doesn't like being drunker than Jake.

More drunk. Whatever.

"Yeah," he says again. Even though he's not sure exactly what they're talking about anymore.

"So did she tell you why she was suddenly fleeing the country?"

Oh right. Irina. Irina who he dated for two months. Irina who was funny and sweet if a little weird and out there and who might have had an unhealthy obsession with the Prince of England, but who didn't have any family in Washington and had agreed to go with Edward down to Forks for Christmas. Irina, who was supposed to be the proof that Edward _wasn't _wasting away his life in Loserdom, that even if he had no college degree, a job he hated, an apartment that came with moldy walls, a fridge that liked to stop working every now and then and a carpet so old and stained that he wasn't sure what color it originally used to be, he was at least successful in one aspect of his life.

Irina, who called Edward less than eight hours ago to break up with him, give her apologies for missing out on Christmas dinner, and explain that she was leaving the country for an uncertain amount of time.

Fucking Irina.

Edward sighs and makes gimme motions toward the bottle, remembering why he'd set out to be so drunk to begin with. "I don't know, Jake, she said something about gathering the minions and completing the final plans for her mass world take over or something. I'm not sure."

Jake pauses in the act of handing over the tequila, contemplating this. "Irina's fucking nuts, dude."

Edward pouts at the bottle—_just _out of reach—and sighs again. "Yeah."

"Guess there's only one thing for you to do," Jake says, voice somber and full of wisdom.

Edward blinks blearily at him. "What's that?"

Jake slaps the tequila bottle in Edward's still out reached hand. "Drink more."

Edward's cool with that.

* * *

**So this is my 2012 Christmas story... This is for the lovely MidNight Cougar since she wanted a Christmas-y fic and she always does such an amazing job cleaning up my words... this is one small way I can say thank you! However, this means it's not beta'd (being that it's _for_ MC and all)... so all the mistakes are mine. I did try to clean it up the best I could. As for posting schedule... it's gonna post a lot between now and be complete by new years. Hope you enjoy!**

**-Jess**


	2. Chapter 2

**Another one! Thanks for letting me know who's with me! xo**

* * *

**2.**

Edward regrets being so cool with that when he wakes up the next morning, half on, half off the couch, upper body hanging so far off the cushions that his face is pressed against the floor. His neck hurts, his head is pounding, his mouth is dry and tastes sour and he really hopes that the stain he sees when he opens his eyes used to be a form of food and not some kind of bodily fluid.

He blinks at the stain for several long seconds, trying to will away his headache. It takes a few of those seconds to notice that his headache is pulsing with an insistent, annoying rhythm and it's several more seconds after _that_ until he figures out that the high-pitched noise accompanying the rhythm is _not_ actually in his head.

"_Dude,_" Jake groans from somewhere to his left. "Answer your phone."

With a great effort, Edward pushes himself off the floor and sits up on the couch. He takes a moment to stare at Jake. He's folded and twisted into the chair, his head tipped back at what looks to be an extremely uncomfortable angle, mouth open and drooling. Edward wipes self-consciously at his own mouth and shakily gets up from the sofa, one hand going to his head when the movement makes his headache worse.

He's never drinking again.

Or at least, he's never out-drinking Jake again.

The phone is still ringing—and by what has to be the twentieth ring, Edward is once again wishing he'd bought an answering machine—and it's his house phone so that means it can only be one person:

His mom.

He takes a deep, steadying breath and picks up the phone, praying that he won't sound as hung over as he feels. "H'lo?" Yeah, that didn't work. He clears his throat and tries again. "Hello?"

There's a slight hesitation on the line then, "Edward?"

"Yeah, Mom. It's me."

"You sound horrible. You're not getting sick are you?"

"Nah, just woke up is all."

"Oh." Edward's stomach twists as the concern in her voice changes to a tone of slight disappointment. "Edward, you realize it's past one in the afternoon?"

Edward clears his throat again, shifting guiltily even though his mother can't see him. "Uh, no. I hadn't realized that."

"Were you out partying with Jake again?"

"Not…exactly partying. It was just Jake and me here at the apartment."

She sighs and Edward's stomach drops even further. He hates disappointing his mom. "I see." She says nothing for a moment, leaving Edward to wallow in guilt. She'd long since stopped giving him lectures on his choices in life, leaving her disapproval to be expressed instead with only long, weary sighs and sad looks, all of which somehow made Edward feel worse than any lecture ever could. "Well," she finally says after the silence had stretched too long, "did you get the time off from the factory so you could come down here this Christmas?"

"Yeah," Edward breathes out, relieved that he had something positive to say. "All four days."

"Good. And what about that girl you've been seeing? Irina? Was that her name?"

Edward hesitates, not sure what to say. Should he tell her that they broke up?

"Edward?"

"Yeah, Mom. Her name's Irina." He pauses, still unable to bring up the fact that they were no longer together.

"Very weird name," she mumbles, not for the first time. "Well, is she coming with you? We're all excited to meet her. It's been a long time since you've dated anyone long enough for us to meet them. Alice is especially thrilled," she teases, and he can imagine the smirk on her face. "She's been dying to get you back for how you treated Jasper when they got engaged. I think he had to stop her from actually writing out a list of questions for her to interrogate Irina with."

His mom gives a short laugh and Edward feels his stomach clench, the idea that he's getting ready to let them all down again making him feel physically ill. "Edward?" she asks again when he stays silent. "She's still coming isn't she?"

Edward takes a shaky breath, preparing to tell her that no, she's actually out of the country and for all he knew he would remain so, but what comes out is, "Of course, Mom. We'll both be there on the 23rd." Afterwards, he wants to smack himself, but he can't deny the way he automatically relaxed at his mother's happy "Good."

"What time are you driving down, honey?"

"Um, uh," Edward stutters, too busy panicking and thinking _what the hell did I just do_ to really focus on the question. "I don't know. Sometime in the morning, I think," he mutters distractedly.

Shit. Shit, shit and _fuck._

He is a moron.

"So, really sometime in the evening then?" she asks, and if Edward wasn't freaking out he'd roll his eyes at the familiar comment.

"I'm not always that late," is the expected protest.

"Uh huh, sure. Just give me a call when you finally leave. I'll see you in two days. Love you."

"Yeah, love you too, Mom," he replies automatically, barely noticing the click and dial tone as his mother hangs up. Feeling numb, he slowly puts down the phone before collapsing back on the couch with a groan. He brings one arm up to cover his eyes, as if to block out the whole situation.

Two days.

He is expected back at his parent's house in two days. With his _girlfriend. _

"You're fucked, man." Jake pipes up from this spot on the easy chair.

Edward can't help but agree.

* * *

**Thoughts? Who else is on board for this ride?**

**-Jess**


	3. Chapter 3

**So... the lovely and talented CaraNo is pre-reading this for me... and I can't thank her enough for cracking me up with her comments... :)**

* * *

**3.**

Isabella rings the bell in her hand, smiling brightly at the mom and two kids walking up to the mall entrance. "Happy Holidays!" she says as they pass her by. The mother gives her a tight smile in return but ignores the red donation bucket, herding her children quickly through the doors.

Isabella doesn't sigh.

Instead she turns her smile on the man walking ten or so feet behind the previous customer. "Good morning!" The man grunts and sticks his hand out as he passes, dropping some change into the bucket. Isabella beams at him. "Thank you! And have a merry Christmas!" she calls to the man's back. Then she leans over slightly to look through the slit in the bucket. There were a few more pennies added to the meager pile of change and now a crumpled gum wrapper sitting on top of the coins. Isabella scowls and turns back around, wanting to snap out that this was _not_ a trash can, but the man was already in the mall.

With a concentrated effort, she wipes away the grimace and returns to facing the parking lot. There are two more people walking up the sidewalk: two bickering men, one slightly shorter with dark brown squinty eyes, and one tall, shaggy-haired dude who looks like he could use a good night's sleep. Isabella smiles at them and rings the bell again, causing the taller man to cringe and reach for his head as if in pain.

Oops. Not just a lack of sleep then. More likely a hangover.

Still, she doesn't let that deter her from speaking up as they get closer. "Merry Christmas, guys. Would you like to donate some change to charity? The money is going to purchase food for those who can't afford a Christmas dinner." She puts on her best "pleasant, but earnest" face as she talks.

The shorter man pauses his tirade long enough to throw out a careless, "Sorry, no change," before picking up right where he left off. The tall guy is too busy looking and being miserable to even glance at Isabella.

"Seriously, man, this will work," Squinty Eyes is saying. "Just go in there, pick someone out, and force out a pathetic sob story. Use those puppy-dog eyes of yours. You know those things are all you need to convince any woman you are trustworthy enough for them to go back to your parents with you."

Tall Guy huffs a little. "Jake, you do realize that I've been dating Irina for the past two months and that my family actually expects me to bring her home…not just some random chick?"

The other guy just waves a hand in the air. "Whatever, dude. I still don't get that. I mean—_a chick's a chick right? _Just pick someone." He pauses, looking thoughtful. "Unless it's a man." As if realizing what he just said, he shoots a panicked look at his companion. "That is not an invitation."

His friend sighs and shakes his head. "Trust me, Jake," he says. "I'm really, _really _not interested."

A little bewildered by this bit of conversation she heard, Isabella watches the two make their way into the mall. Her eyes narrow as they pause by the Coke machine just inside the entrance and the shorter guy reaches into his pocket, pulling out a handful of change and depositing a few quarters. Isabella grinds her teeth together and turns her back on them. Her scowl this time is a little harder to smooth out as the next few people pass her by, her mind still stuck on the odd pair.

Assholes.

* * *

**What do we think of Isabella?**

**PS the banner is posted in my facebook group.**

**-Jess**


	4. Chapter 4

**Bring on the handcuffs!**

**Thanks to Cara for pre-reading... I'm a lucky bitch! :)**

* * *

**4.**

Edward's head hits the table with a loud _thunk__. _Groaning, he slumps further onto the wood and wraps his arms around his head, trying to hide from the rest of the world.

It's been a horrible couple of days.

"Seriously, dude. Don't give up. You've got like, three hours until you have to start driving to your parents. That's plenty of time."

Edward can hear Jake pace back and forth on the other side of the table, shoes squeaking against the kitchen tiles. He imagines Jake's arms waving around in the broad, careless gestures he's prone to making when he gets worked up about something. Usually, Edward would be watching him, amused, just waiting for him to smack himself in the face or something as his motions got more and more erratic, but right now he can't work up the energy to even lift his head.

He keeps his head buried in his arms, despairing.

"Have you called Angela? Maybe you can talk her into skipping out on Ben's family and going to yours instead. She owes you a favor, considering it was you who introduced them to begin with. Then you dumped her, leaving them free to run off together, and God knows that guy is so crazy. Hell, his family is probably crazy too. You know what?" Jake snaps his fingers. "I bet you'd be doing her a favor!"

"Called her," Edward mutters into the smooth wood surface of the table. His voice is muffled and his breath makes his face and the spot of table it's pressed against damp with humidity. "She reminded me that both she and Ben hate me now and then hung up."

"Shit." Jake keeps pacing. "Well, what about your other exes?"

"Kate also hung up on me. Jane laughed for two minutes before hanging up."

Jake's shoes stop squeaking. "Man, Ed. Are there any exes of yours who _don't _hate you?"

Edward thinks about this for a moment. It's true, almost every relationship he's been in, no matter how short or long—_mostly short_—ended up with the other party hating him, usually because of how he'd abruptly end things, right around the time things started to get serious. The only exception to that would be Deb, who tried to be his friend after a short period of not talking. But that situation was different from the rest. Deb had been—

He cuts that thought short, sitting up with a sigh. "No," he mutters to Jake, rubbing a hand wearily over his face. "I think we should just give up. I'm tired. These have been the worst fucking two days of my life."

Jake rolls his eyes. "They haven't been that bad."

Edward gapes at him. "Jake, I got kicked out of the mall for _sexual harassment,_" he says incredulously. "They threatened to call the cops on me! And that was after two separate guys tried to kick my ass for hitting on their girlfriends." When Jake has no reaction to this, Edward goes on. "At the park I got threatened to be reported to the police three separate times, and the last girl I talked to was a _paranoid schizophrenic_, who freaked out because she thought the whole thing was some plot made up by the military who wanted to kidnap her and stick a _microchip_ into her _brain._ How is that not 'that bad'?"

Jake just shrugs. "I've had worse days."

Edward stares at him in disbelief for a moment before figuring that, yeah, Jake probably has. It's a comfort to know, Edward thinks, that no matter how screwed up and pathetic his life gets, Jake's will probably always be more so.

"So, you see," Jake says seriously, gesturing dramatically with his hands, "things can always get worse. And you've still got three hours. We need ideas."

Edward slumps in his seat. "I've got nothing." His stomach churns as he thinks about showing up at his parents' house without a girlfriend. He imagines the expressions of disappointment and pity on their faces as he explains that he failed at yet _another _relationship, just to add one more thing to the constantly growing list of things he's failed at.

"Come on, Eddie," Jake wheedles. "You can't just give up like this…" His argument is cut off by the doorbell ringing. He raises an eyebrow at Edward. "Expecting someone this early in the morning?" Edward shakes his head, no idea who could be at the door. "Maybe it's one of your exes. Decided they were gonna go with you, after all," Jake suggests, but his tone is filled with doubt.

Edward snorts and shakes his head as he gets up and walks out of the kitchen. "Somehow, I don't think that's going to happen." When he swings open his front door and sees the person on the other side, the thought that immediately runs through his mind is that he _wishes _this girl was one of his exes. Or, rather, a future ex, actually. Something to look forward to, and then another thing to fail at.

Though, looking at her, he'd be hard pressed to try to find a reason to break it off.

"Good morning." The girl smiles at Edward, her bright brown eyes sparkling. "I'm collecting charity donations to build a new community center for downtown. Would you care to take a few moments and…" She trails off as Jake steps up behind Edward, standing on his tiptoes to peer over his shoulder. The girl's eyes widen. "Hey!" she gasps, abruptly losing the pleasant manner and polite smile. "You guys are the assholes from the mall the other day!"

Edward slides a nervous glance at Jake. Is this one of the girls he talked to? He couldn't remember all of them. He smiles uncertainly and rubs a hand over his neck. "Uh…" He really hopes this girl isn't about to threaten to kick his ass. He's had enough of that already. "I don't know what you're talking about?"

The girl narrows her eyes. "Yeah, it is _you_. You're the guys who walked right by the donation bucket, saying you didn't have any change on you and then stopped. To buy...a _Coke_." She punctuates her sentence with sharp jabs at the air in front of her with the big, yellow envelope in her hands, face screwed up in an angry, dangerous expression.

Jake scoffs behind Edward. "Please. Everyone walks by those buckets. The only people who don't are the ones with some trash they want to get rid of."

If possible, the girl's expression darkens further and Edward is suddenly feeling like the lowest of the low, right down there with puppy kickers and people who skin cats for fun. "Right," she bites out. "And I doubt you would be interested in donating some money for a community center either." When Jake just scoffs again, she gives an irritated roll of her eyes and turns around, ready to dismiss them and walk back to the street.

She barely reaches the bottom step of the stoop before Jake lunges forward and snatches her wrist. "Wait!" The girl jerks back around, staring at Jake in shock.

"Dude." Edward shoots Jake an incredulous glance. "What are you doing?"

Jake gives him an intense look, not letting go of her arm. "Think, Edward, it's perfect."

"Perfect for what?" He has no idea what Jake's talking about.

"Yeah, I would like to know that too," the girl snaps, tugging at her arm in an attempt to dislocate Jake. She fails, which isn't surprising. Edward knows from experience that Jake has a grip like a particularly clingy octopus—you just can't get him off you.

"Your parents. _Christmas,_" Jake answers. "It's perfect."

Oh! Oh no. No no no.

Edward shakes his head. "We can't do that," he denies, trying hard not to cower at the truly fantastic glower the donation girl is giving them both. The only thing worse than Edward showing up at his parents without a girlfriend, would be Edward showing up with a girlfriend who _hates him._

But Jake shakes his head back at him. "I'm telling you, man. This'll work. Hey!" he turns to the girl, jerking her a little closer. "What are you doing for Christmas?"

The girl scowls. "Not that it's any of your business," she snaps, "but I'm volunteering at the local soup kitchen."

"See?! She's not doing anything!" He turns to grin triumphantly at Edward. "It's perfect. _She's _perfect."

Edward takes a long look at the girl. She certainly _looks _perfect, petite and fit, which is obvious even under the light jacket and scarf she's wearing, with light brown hair, full kissable lips and bright brown eyes—eyes that are hard and glaring from beneath furrowed brows, even as they flick back and forth between him and Jake in confusion.

Edward sighs. As much as it would fix all his problems to introduce this girl to his parents as his date for Christmas, he already knew there was no way he could talk her into it. "Forget it, Jake. This was a stupid idea anyway. I'm just gonna have to call my family and explain everything." He considers using the break-up with Irina to beg out of Christmas dinner this year. His stomach drops at the idea of skipping Christmas, but the thought of facing his family as he is—_a_ _failure_—is even worse.

Jake shakes his head. "I'm sorry, man—but as your best friend, I can't let you do that."

"What are you guys taking about? And what do I have to do with it?" the girl snaps, trying futilely to tug her wrist from Jake's grasp…_again_.

Jake reaches behind him. "Really, Eddie," he says, "this is for the best. I'm just looking out for you, man." With that, he pulls a pair of handcuffs from his back pocket.

"Jake, what're you—"

"Hey! What do you think—"

There's a flash of silver and a snap, and both Edward and the girl fall silent, staring in shock at the shining metal cuff clasped around her wrist.

* * *

***snickers***

**Ready for more?**

**-Jess**


	5. Chapter 5

**Thanks to Cara for pre-reading... you rock babe! xo**

**Now, I should prolly mention that she properly chastised me... (and I enjoyed every second of it... oh, TMI... _sorry_.) But, this does have a bit of drama in it... and maybe I should have labeled it that way instead of Humor/Romance... so we're gonna call it Dramatic/Humor/Romance... *shrugs* ... cuz Jake is bat-shit-crazy... and you know... Bella _is_ being kidnapped after all... :)**

* * *

**5.**

"Jake, what the hell are you_ thinking?_" _Thump, thump, thump, thump._

"Come on, Edward. It's the perfect solution!"

"_Kidnapping_ is your perfect solution? Are you out of your _mind?_" _Thump, thump. Crash. _

Isabella jerks at what sounds like a dish being broken in the kitchen, where the two crazies who kidnapped her are arguing. God, she should have known that seeing them at the mall yesterday was some kind of bad omen. As soon as she recognized them at the door she should have hightailed it out of there.

But really, who expects to ring a doorbell, simply asking for a helpful donation, and then have a pair of handcuffs slapped on them by a couple of complete _nutcases?_ She'd been too shocked to react at first, and by the time she did, he shorter one—_Jake_—had pulled her into the apartment. As soon as she'd realized what was happening she'd struggled, obviously. She had shouted and tried her hardest to get away from the man, but the guy was quicker than Isabella had expected. He had immediately hooked the other end of the handcuffs around the armrest of the only solid piece of furniture in the whole run-down apartment—an ancient, oak rocking chair. He then pushed Isabella down onto the chair, grabbed a washcloth and some duct tape from the kitchen and gagged her, stopping all hope that some neighbors would hear her shouts and come to help.

After that, Tall Guy—Edward, according to the "handcuffer"—had dragged his friend into the kitchen, leaving Isabella alone with nothing to do but listen to them argue. Oh, and pray that Edward manages to talk some sense into his friend and to let her go.

She tugs fruitlessly against the handcuffs in question. It's pointless; they're not the flimsy, cheap kind you can get at any sex store or magic shop, but actual handcuffs, the kind that cops use, and Isabella knows there's no way of getting out of them. She'd already tried standing up and moving the rocking chair as soon as the guys left the room, but the chair was _heavy_, and with the way Isabella was cuffed, she couldn't stand properly without breaking a wrist.

So. She's stuck here. With two completely _insane _people, one of which, Isabella figures from the conversation she's heard, is supposed to take her home and introduce her as his girlfriend.

Great. Just fucking great.

"What's the problem, Ed?" he hears Jake ask through the thin apartment walls. "It's not like the girl is going to have a great Christmas anyway. You heard her—she's volunteering at the soup kitchen. What a great time _that's _going to be."

He hears Edward's exasperated sigh, even over the steady _thump-thump _as he—presumably—paces the kitchen floor. "That's not the point. What if she has family or something expecting her later, huh? You ever think of that? Jesus, Jake, you're going to get us sent to jail!"

"Well, let's ask her." There's the sound of a chair being pushed back and then Jake comes marching into the living room, a determined expression on his face, Edward trailing unhappily behind him. Isabella tries to back away as Jake reaches for the tape over her mouth, but it's not like she can go anywhere, handcuffed as she is. All she manages to do is wiggle a little bit and make a sound of protest that sounds more like a cry of pain as Jake rips the tape off her face.

She spits out the washcloth and curses. "Shit! That hurt."

"Sorry."

Isabella sees Jake's smirking face and knows that he isn't the least bit sorry. Sadist. "Let me go," she demands.

"Sorry, can't do that." He shrugs carelessly and Isabella decides that she hates him. Scratch that. Despises him. _Loathes_ him, even.

"So tell me, you got any family waiting for you to come around this Christmas? Friends?"

She glares at him. Yeah. There was definite loathing here. "I don't have to answer any of your questions."

"Ha!" Jake punches the air. "See, Edward! I told you no one's expecting her. That's the kind of thing you say when you don't want to admit the truth." He turns to his friend with a smug grin, the kind someone wears when they've just won a bet with their buddies, and Isabella wonders if there is a deeper form of hatred than loathing, because that's definitely what she's feeling at the moment.

Edward rubs a weary hand across his face. "Jake, come on. We don't even know if the girl is single…and it's not like she would go along with this."

"Why is that a problem? She could just pretend to like you like that. It can't be that hard. I mean, I couldn't do it, but I know you better. She doesn't." Edward just gives him a flat, frustrated look and Jake huffs and turns back to Isabella. "Are you single?"

Isabella grits her teeth. She is, but she isn't going to tell them that. "Like I said, I don't have to answer any of your questions."

"Ha!" Jake says again, turning to Edward triumphantly. "See? If she wasn't single, she totally would have said so to try and get out of this."

Edward stares at Isabella, an uncertain, thoughtful look on his face. Isabella stares back, wordlessly pleading. Edward sighs. "I'm sorry."

Isabella's stomach drops. "Oh, no. No. I am _not _doing this. No way." She tugs futilely at the handcuffs once more as she starts to panic, flicking her gaze from Jake's smug face to Edward's apologetic one.

"I really am sorry, but I'm desperate here."

"Fuck your desperation!" Isabella shouts. "I'm not doing this. You all are crazy, and I don't care what you say; the _second _I get a chance, I'm calling the cops on your asses."

Jake walks forward and braces his arms against Isabella's chair, leaning down and glaring in what he probably thinks is a threatening manner. "Then I guess we just won't give you the chance."

Isabella scoffs. "Yeah, right. Because it's absolutely _normal_ for a guy's girlfriend to show up at a family dinner in _handcuffs._"

Jake stares at her silently for a moment, contemplating. Isabella doesn't look away, chin jutted out in challenge. Finally, Jake smiles, slow and, surprisingly, a bit intimidating. "Well, we'll just have to think of a way you won't call the cops then." He steps back and very slowly, very purposefully turns to face the coffee table at the center of the room, where Isabella's keys, purse, wallet, and cell phone are sitting on the yellow envelope she has been carrying around all day. Isabella sucks in a nervous breath as Jake plucks that yellow envelope from beneath them.

"So, what's in here?" Jake asks, and Isabella tries not to react to the rising panic she feels as he waves the envelope in the air. "Let me guess." he slants a smirking glance at her. "Charity donations, right?" Isabella doesn't say anything and Jake taps one corner against his mouth, a fake thoughtful look on his face. "Hmm… I wonder how much you managed to collect."

He untwists the tab holding the flap closed and looks inside, ignoring Edward's uncertain "Jake…" from behind him. He pulls out the slip of paper holding the total of all the checks and cash donations and his eyes widen in sincere surprise. "Holy shit, Edward. There's over four thousand dollars in here."

"What?" Edward stalks forward and snatches the paper from Jake's hand. His jaw practically drops as he reads what's on it. He raises wide eyes to Isabella. "You managed to raise four thousand dollars just this morning?" Beside him, Jake pulls out a stack of checks from the envelope and Isabella nearly twitches as she watches him shuffle through them.

"Four thousand and thirty-two, actually," she snaps. "And yes, I did. Not all people are cheap, kidnapping scumbags like you."

Edward flushes and ducks his head, biting his lip, and Isabella almost feels guilty. Then the pressure around her wrists reminds her, oh yeah, this guy _kidnapped_ her, and the feeling vanishes.

Edward avoids Isabella's eye and mutters a low, "Enough," to Jake, who is still thumbing through the checks. He plucks them out of Jake's hand, stuffing both them and the paper with the total into the envelope, which he tosses back onto the coffee table. Then he collapses down onto the sofa, burying his head in his hands with a tired sigh. Jake, however, takes a seat in the armchair, pulling it closer to Isabella so he can grin smugly at her.

"So here's what I'm thinking," he says to Isabella, that self-satisfied little smirk back on his face. "I think that to raise that much money in so little time, you must _really_ care about all this charity crap. In fact," Jake raises his voice over Isabella's when she tries to tell him just how much it's _not_ crap, "I know you do." He starts ticking off his fingers. "The community center. The soup kitchen. The donation bucket at the mall. That's a lot of volunteer work for someone who only feels guilty once a year about the poor starving kids at Christmas. So, I think you care _a lot._"

Isabella grits her teeth. Says nothing.

Jake smirks again and leans forward on the chair so he's only a foot away from Isabella's face. "So here is how it's going to go. I'm going to take that," he gestures to the envelope on the table, "into safekeeping. And you are going to go with my buddy here and keep him company for Christmas. Eat some turkey and ham, make his parents feel proud of him and when you come back I'll place the envelope right in your hands, no harm, no foul. If you try to escape or call the police, all Edward does is have to text me and poof—the money disappears. All right?"

Before Isabella can answer, Edward promises to do charity work for a whole year once the holidays are over. It won't sway her completely, obviously—she's being kidnapped, after all—but it may pique her interest, if only a little, since she's selfless and all about charity. After he finishes his promises and pleads, he stares at Jake incredulously. "_Jesus,_" he breathes. "I've been your best friend for years. How did I not know you were this scary…and _why _have I been your best friend all this time?"

Jake smirks at him. "Never had a reason to show this side of me to you."

"The side of you that doubles as a criminal mastermind?"

Jake shrugs. "Yes, exactly. Now," he turns back to Isabella, leaning in close to stare into her eyes. "Do we have a deal?"

Isabella can feel the muscle in her jaw twitch as she tries to control the amount of anger and sheer _frustration _that runs through her. She would like nothing more at the moment than to punch this slimy fucker right in his smirking, squinty-eyed face. But the cuffs are unyielding against her wrist as she flexes it and it doesn't look like she is going to be free any time soon.

She doesn't have many options.

"Fine," she hisses. "I'll do it."

Jake does another fist-pump in the air, Edward looks both horrified and relieved, and Isabella thinks again that she really, really hates these guys.

This Christmas is going to suck.

* * *

**Another one?**

**-Jess**


	6. Chapter 6

**Lots of thanks to Cara for pre-reading... love you! xo**

**And thanks to MidNight Cougar... for the awesome Rec on Rob Attack! Love you, too! xo**

* * *

**6.**

Roughly an hour and a half after he lets Jake talk him into a decision that would solve his family situation but might just land him in Prison for life, Edward starts the four hour drive from Seattle down to Forks. With him, handcuffed to the passenger side door, is the surly, glaring woman who is supposed to pretend to be his girlfriend. A girlfriend who, apparently, refuses to talk to him.

Edward sighs. "Look," he tries again, "I really am sorry about this."

No reaction.

"It's just that my girlfriend broke up with me just a few days ago, actually fled the country, though I don't think it was from me, just—well, she had some weird ideas about taking over the world or something. She might have been insane, now that I think about it, but that's not the point." He looks away from the road to spare a glance at his companion.

Yup. Still glaring.

"Anyway, my family has really been looking forward to meeting her. I mean, really. It's been a long time since I've brought anyone home, and I just can't bear to disappoint them. Not on Christmas anyway."

Silence.

Edward bites his lip, takes a nervous breath. "You know," he says tentatively. "This might not be as horrible as you think. I mean," he adds quickly when he sees the girl shoot him an incredulous look, "obviously you don't want to hang around _me_, the guy who—" he lets out a nervous little chuckle, "the guy who kidnapped you, but my family is really great. I mean, really. So, you never know, this Christmas might not be so bad."

"Right," the girl finally says, voice scathing. "I'm handcuffed to your car, being driven four hours away from my home _against my will_, and I'm going to spend my Christmas pretending to be in love with you, a guy so pathetic that he has to kidnap an innocent bystander in order to get a date for Christmas, all the while wearing cheap Wal-Mart clothes that don't fit and that I didn't even pick out, and you think this whole experience might not _be so bad._"

"We offered to go pick up your actual clothes, you know."

"Oh, right. Like I was going to let _you two _know where I live." She sneers at Edward, brows pulled down in an angry scowl, and Edward can't look at her. He wishes, briefly, that he hadn't opened his mouth at all.

The silence was better.

And it seems, now that the girl has started talking, she isn't going to stop any time soon. "What's more, I'm being forced to let down the people who are depending on me this Christmas. The people at the soup kitchen, and the can food drive." She makes a frustrated tug against the handcuff on her wrist. "I can't even let them know I'm not going to be there. They're just going to be a person short, thinking I just didn't bother to show up. And that _Jake,_" she all but spits the name, turning to point violently at Edward. "I don't trust him with that money. For all I know he could be lying to me, and by the time this whole joke of a holiday is over, the money will be gone, spent on drugs or something."

"Hey, now," Edward interrupts her. "Jake wouldn't do that. He's a good guy." Edward refused to listen to the truth; denying was easier. Otherwise, it'd just be yet another thing he's failed at—finding good friends.

The girl snorts. "Right. I'm sure the guy who _kidnapped charity donations _to blackmail my complacency is an upstanding citizen. A person to be admired. He's a 'good guy'. " She sneers the last words and makes little air quotations with her hands, which Edward thinks looks funny, considering one hand can't move further than a few inches away from the door handle, but he doesn't say anything.

He has a feeling that any type of humor he tries will just make things worse.

Edward bites his lip, considering. "Listen," he starts, "I'm really sorry about using the money against you, and I know you don't want to hear any more justifications or excuses, but I promise, I _promise_, that nothing is going to happen to it. Jake isn't going to spend it or lose it, or whatever, all right. I _swear_." He hears a disbelieving huff from beside him and Edward wishes that they weren't driving along an interstate highway, that he could pull over and look the girl straight in the eyes and try to convince her he's telling the truth. As it is though, he just has to try to make his voice as persuasive as he can. He runs a hand through his hair and huffs out his own sigh. "Hey, if I lend you my cell phone so you can call the soup kitchen and stuff, let them know you're not coming, will you promise not to say anything about…this?" He waves a hand in the air, as if that one gesture could encompass the whole screwed up mess between them.

The woman turns to face him and Edward looks away from the road to meet her surprised expression. "Really? You'd let me call them?" she asks.

Edward shrugs. "Sure. Believe it or not, but I don't actually want to ruin your life." He looks again at her, meeting her eyes with a sincere, almost pleading look. "I just need you to help fix mine."

She keeps eye contact with Edward for a few silent moments, as if studying him, before looking away, uncomfortable. "Fine," she says shortly. "Give me your phone."

Edward digs it out of his pocket but doesn't immediately toss it over. "I'm serious, though. No mention of any of this, or…" He lets that sentence trail off, self-disgust rolling through him as he thinks about its end: _or I'll call Jake. _He doesn't want to be the kind of person who uses a threat like that, no matter what kind of screwed up situation he now is in. But as he glances over, it's clear from the girl's face that he doesn't have to speak the words; she got the meaning anyway. Silently, he hands over the phone.

She takes it from him, and Edward goes back to staring intently at the road, trying to give the woman the illusion of privacy even if they both know he'll be listening closely to everything the girl tells the people she calls.

"Mrs. Cope?" she says into the phone. "Yeah, this is Isabella."

Edward's hands clench and flex on the steering wheel, self-disgust once again rising when he suddenly realizes he didn't even bother to ask the girl her _name._

"Hey, I know I'm supposed to work the soup kitchen this Christmas Eve, but something's come up and, well, I can't."

_Something's come up. _Such a diplomatic way of putting things. That's like saying the Civil War was merely a small disagreement between the North and the South. But the girl's—Isabella's—tone doesn't give anything away. She sounds perfectly calm, pleasant even. Edward relaxes slightly, the nagging little doubts that the woman would be able to pretend to like Edward enough to fool his family quieted.

"What? No, nothing like that," Isabella is saying. "Nothing wrong. I just…" She trails off, and Edward sees her shooting him a quick glance before sighing. "Yeah. Yeah, it's my family. Guess they decided they wanted me there for Christmas, after all. Who'd have thought? Maybe not having me there does worse for their image than my presence actually does."

Her tone is flat and just a little bit bitter, and Edward is suddenly curious. He'd wondered why Isabella was planning to spend this Christmas volunteering to do charity work rather than spend time with her own family. But he hadn't felt it was his right—considering he's the man who kidnapped her—to ask. Still isn't, Edward reminds himself. And he suppresses his questions as Isabella wraps up the phone call and quickly makes another, this time to the organizer of the can food drive that was happening later this evening.

Damn. This girl is like a one-man charity herself. Doesn't she ever do anything else?

Isabella snaps the phone shut and hands it back to Edward with a soft, "Here." She doesn't say thanks, but Edward didn't really expect her to. As soon as Edward takes the phone, he sees Isabella turn back to the window, attempting to cross her arms but failing, thanks to the handcuff that's still clasped around her wrist. With a frustrated huff, she slumps down into the seat, scowl once again on her face.

The car is silent again.

* * *

**Maybe a few more today... let me know what you think!**

**-Jess**


	7. Chapter 7

**Let's try this again... someone tell ff . net to play nice...**

**Cara's comments cracked me up in this one... thanks for pre-reading babe! xo**

* * *

**7.**

The rest of the four-hour drive passes in a very tense silence, with the exception of when Edward tells Isabella a few things she needs to know about his family. But all too soon, Edward is turning on to his parents' street. "That's the house right there." He points to a house near the end of the street and Isabella nods, lips pressed into a thin, hard line. She's staring at it like it's the gallows, not a modest two story with a porch and a few trees in the front yard.

Emmett and Rosalie are already there, taking up driveway space with their gigantic "family-sized" SUV, so Edward parks his significantly smaller car on the street. He pulls the keys out of the ignition and takes a deep breath, running a nervous hand through is hair. "Okay. This is it."

Isabella huffs. Doesn't look at him.

"It's just a few days—shouldn't be too hard right?" he asks, though he isn't sure if he's trying to reassure Isabella, the girl he forced into this, or himself.

Isabella still doesn't look at him. "You gonna un-cuff me?"

"Um. Yeah. Hold on." Edward shifts a little awkwardly, digging into his pocket to get the tiny key Jake had handed to him after hooking Isabella to the car handle four hours ago. He leans across Isabella to get to his wrist, but hesitates as he's reaching for it. "Uh, there's one more thing."

Isabella groans. "What now?" She's leaning, Edward notices, as far back into the seat as is possible, body tense and rigid, as if she can't bear the thought of being within a foot of touching distance with him. Inwardly Edward wonders how the hell they are going to pull this off if the woman can't even stand to touch him.

"I've sort of already told my family my girlfriend's—well, ex-girlfriend now—name, so uh, you'll have to go by it while you're here."

She rolls her eyes. "Great. What is it?"

"Irina."

Isabella just stares at him, face blank, as if waiting to be told it was a joke. Then she closes her eyes and leans her head back against the seat with a snort. "Perfect. That's just perfect. Not only do I have to pretend to be _your _girlfriend," she emphasizes the word your, stretching it out until Edward feels about two inches tall, "but now I have spend three days going by one of the weirdest fucking names I've ever heard." She snorts again. "Irina. Jesus."

Face burning with embarrassment, Edward quickly unlocks the cuff around Isabella's wrist and pulls away. "I'll get the bags," he mutters and practically lunges out the driver's side door. Once outside, he breathes in the cool December air and tries to get himself under control.

Could he really go through with this? Lie to his family and spend the next three days pretending to be in love with a complete stranger? For a moment he thinks about just coming clean, before it's too late. He could just walk in and tell his parents what happened with Irina, apologize to Isabella, and pay for a bus ride back to Seattle or something, pushing this whole ridiculous situation behind him. Then he imagines the pity on his parents' faces—just overlapping the barely-concealed disappointment that's there whenever they find out just how far different his life turned out from what they wanted for him—sees the sympathetic look on his little sister's face, the concerned whispers she'd share with her fiancé… he could hear the muttered, "_That's too bad,_ Eddie" rom his brother, before he turns back to his beautiful wife and adorable kids and his perfect fucking life as a doctor, and never a disappointment, not him, and—

The passenger side door slams, knocking Edward out of his thoughts. Isabella is standing by the car, absently rubbing at her right wrist and scowling at the house they're parked in front of. Edward sighs and opens the back door, starts pulling out the bags.

There's no going back now.

Luggage in hand, Edward leads the way to the front door, Isabella trailing reluctantly behind him. He doesn't pause to ring the doorbell, knowing his mom would have left the door unlocked, expecting him, and just shuffles both bags to one hand and pushes open the door with the other. "Mom? Dad?"

"Edward? Is that you?" his mom calls from the back of the house.

He rolls his eyes and drops the bags by the door. "Considering I'm the only one who wasn't here already, who else would it be?" he calls back with a smile. Despite his worries and fears about coming here, it already feels good to be home. The smile fades when he looks over his shoulder and sees Isabella, still lingering outside, just beyond the doorway. "Come on in," he murmurs. "I promise my family isn't as crazy as I am."

Isabella gives him a flat, disbelieving look but walks inside anyway. She's closing the door behind her when Edward's mom appears in the foyer. "Well it's about time you got here, Edward. What took you so long?"

Edward shrugs, opening his arms when she steps in for a hug. "You know me, always sleeping in." She barely reaches his chest; and she has to lift one hand to the back of his neck so she can pull his head down and place a kiss on his cheek.

"Well, I remember a little boy who couldn't wait to get out of bed. Always up at the crack of dawn, ready for the cartoons to start and demanding breakfast." She smiles warmly at him when she pulls away, but her eyes flicker pointedly at Isabella. "And who's this?"

Edward takes a deep breath and reaches back, placing a hand on Isabella's shoulder to pull her forward. "Mom, this is Irina."

Isabella tenses under his touch, but pastes a smile on her face as she holds her hand out. "Pleased to meet you, ma'am," she says, all polite smile and humble voice. Edward blinks at the change from the frowning, surly woman he drove here with.

Edward's mom bypasses the offered handshake and goes straight for a hug. From over her shoulder, Edward sees Isabella's smile freeze and her arms slowly, awkwardly return the hug.

"Call me Esme," his mom says when she pulls away. "And I'm so happy you could come. The whole family has been looking forward to meeting you."

Isabella shoots Edward a look and hesitates long enough before her reply to make Edward start to panic before smiling down at Esme. "I've been looking forward to meeting you, too." She sounds so sincere that Edward nearly believes her, and he lets out a relieved breath.

"Where's everyone else, Mom?" He asks, trying to take his mother's attention away from his supposed girlfriend. Isabella is a _scarily _good actress, Edward will give her that, but he feels hyperaware of how easily it all could come crumbling down around him.

"Your father and Emmett and Rose are in the family room. Alice and Jasper went to pick up dinner—they brought the kids with them."

It was a long standing tradition that the night before Christmas Eve (or Christmas Eve Eve, as Edward and Alice used to call it) that the family would get take-out. His mom would always be busy cooking the food for the next day, and as particular as she was about everything, the family long ago found it was easier to just order food and stay out of her way.

"Sounds like we got here just in time." He flashes a small smile at Isabella, who has dropped her own smile and is instead looking around the foyer. Her eyes linger on the chandelier light fixture, and then the cherry-wood framed mirror, that is surrounded by family portraits. Those are framed in the same polished wood. Edward notices a small frown on her face. _Not what you thought your kidnapper's family home would look like, huh? _He turns back to his mom, smile strained. "So what are they getting?"

His mom rolls her eyes, an affectionate smile on her face. "Nobody could decide, so they're getting both pizza and barbecue."

"All right" Edward can't help it; he fist pumps. The barbecue place his family likes to go to has the best shredded barbecue pork he has ever tasted. In the corner of his eye he sees Isabella roll her eyes, the expression on her face _not_one of affection. Edward flushes and clears his throat. "Well, Mom, we'll just take our luggage up to my room and then we'll meet you guys in the family room." He catches Isabella's eye and nods subtly to the stairs.

"Oh, you don't need Irina for that. You know better than to make a guest carry her own luggage. You go on ahead and I'll introduce her to everyone."

"But, Mom—" He tries, but Esme just waves him off, placing a gentle hand on Isabella's arm to guide her out of the foyer.

"Go on, don't worry. I'll take good care of her."

Isabella smirks at Edward over her shoulder, leaving him to imagine everything she could tell his family in the three minutes she'll be alone with them."

Edward gulps and rushes up the stairs.

* * *

**hmm... what is Irin... I mean Isabella gonna do? *giggles***

**-Jess**


	8. Chapter 8

**Thanks to Cara for the pre-reading! xo**

* * *

**8.**

Isabella is led into a moderately sized family room. It's decorated in light colors—light greens and creams, with wide glass double doors leading out to the backyard. There are two couches and an easy chair set campfire style around a low coffee table. There are people sitting on one couch and the chair—a couple who look just a few years older than her and a thin man with gray-blond hair and laugh lines around his mouth. They all turn to look as she enters the room.

"And here's Irina," Esme says with a smile, her small hand nudging gently at Isabella's shoulder for her to step ahead of her. The couple on the loveseat give a cheerful wave as Esme introduces them as Edward's brother Emmett, and his wife Rose, but the man in the chair stands up and holds out his hand.

"I'm Carlisle," he says, smiling as he raises Isabella's hand to kiss the back of it. "Good to meet you, dear."

"You too, sir." Isabella's own smile feels too awkward, too fake on her lips. Especially when met by the wide, sincere smiles everybody else in the room is beaming at her. They're all practically _delighted _that she's here, and Isabella realizes that Edward wasn't exaggerating when he said they were really looking forward to meeting his girlfriend, and that the break-up would actually break all of their hearts. She doesn't let that fact soften her, though. In fact, she feels even more uneasy now that she realizes that they are apparently, nice, warm people—not the kind of people she would have thought would have raised a kidnapper—and that she's being forced to lie to them.

This feeling is not helped by the way Edward's dad places a friendly hand on Isabella's shoulder and insists that they "forget about that 'sir' nonsense" as he ushers her onto the couch across from Emmett and Rose.

Isabella's dad always made her call him 'sir,' even after she was an adult. She'd hated it.

She tries to tell herself that there's probably something horribly wrong with all these people, underneath the surface, for their own—kidnapping—son to think it was okay to lie to them like this, and that they deserve what they get, but she doesn't manage to make herself believe it.

"So…" Esme, who plops herself down on the other side of the couch, looks around the room, obviously searching for a subject to talk about. "How's the furniture business coming along?"

"Uh, the furniture business?"

"Yeah. Edward told us you make your own furniture and that you are trying to set up a business for it? He said you're very talented."

Isabella looks around the room, slightly panicked. "Well, uh." She coughs. "I don't know about talented, but uh. Yeah. It's going…it's going, um, good. I guess. You know," she forces a chuckle, "nothing big, just a few uh, chairs and stuff made for friends, but yeah, good."

"That's good." Esme smiles at her, as if the conversation hadn't been completely pointless—or a complete _lie_—and Isabella notices that Esme has the same dimples on her cheeks as Edward does.

"You know," Carlisle leans forward in his chair, "I'm not bad at carpentry myself. My grandfather built rocking chairs and he showed me a few things. Of course Edward and Emmett," he waves a hand at his son, who could almost pass as Edward's twin—apart from the darker hair and slightly broader build—and smirks, "are useless at it."

Emmett rolls his eyes, but he's grinning. "Gee, thanks, Dad."

Carlisle ignores Emmett, his smirk changing into a grin, shooting it at Isabella like they share a joke. "What do you say we head out to the barn sometime while you're here. I've got the right tools and some wood, and maybe we can just show these two how it's done, huh?"

Isabella doesn't know how to use tools.

Well, that's not exactly true. Tools to work on a blank canvas, sure. Give her a pallet knife, or a paint brush or even a set of sculpting tools, those she could work with, but carpentry? She knew exactly jack-shit about carpentry.

For a moment, Isabella imagines herself out there with them, pushing a plank of wood through a table saw, pretending to be confident and know exactly what she's doing, all the while trying not to screw up and make a fool of herself or worse—screwing up and losing a finger.

No. Just no.

There was no way Isabella was going to risk any limbs or _fingers_ for one _Edward-_fucking-_Cullen._He could keep the charity money.

"Uh, that sounds great…Carlisle." She forces another nervous smile. "But I'm not a carpenter."

"Really?" Emmett asks, frowning. "I could have sworn Edward said—"

"Design." Isabella interrupts him. "I design the pieces, and hire contractors to build them. But it's easy to get mixed up, and I mean, you know, I've made some furniture out of wicker but never wood." The short laugh she lets out sounds far too strangled to her.

"I thought wicker was a form of plant; seems like it would be harder to make furniture from that than it would be from wood." Emmett's wife, Rose pipes up.

_Jesus,_ what's with this people? Are they some kind of furniture know-it-alls? Do they live their lives around the _Antique Road Show_or something?

"Well, yeah," Isabella replies through gritted teeth. "But, you know, it's easier to work with than wood…because you just weave it and uh, let it dry."

At least she thinks wicker is wet when they weave it. She knows jack-shit about wicker, too.  
Rose looks like she's about to say something else, but luckily, Edward chooses that exact minute to enter the room.

She'd never thought she'd actually be _glad_ to see him.

* * *

**So... for the record... I know jack-shit about making furniture as well... wicker or otherwise... ;)**

**-Jess**


	9. Chapter 9

**Thanks again to Cara for the pre-reading! xo**

* * *

**9.**

"Hey, guys." Edward calls as he walks in, smile big on his face. It dims a little when he looks at Isabella, expression taken over by something nervous and a little pained. His eyes flicker to the rest of the people in the room, as if gauging their reactions.

_No, I didn't say anything to them,_ Isabella thinks. Though, she sort of wishes she had. How quickly would this be put to an end if Isabella just came out and told them what's going on? If Esme Cullen was anything like _her_ mom, then very quickly, she'd wager. Then again, all Edward had to do was text Jake and that charity money would be gone. She doesn't know Edward well enough to figure out if he'd do it afterwards, just to spite. She can't take that chance.  
Still, that doesn't mean Isabella has to give him any type of reassurance. So, she stays quiet as she watches Edward greet his family. First he gives a long hug to his dad, then one to Emmett, just as long, then another hug to Rose, with an added kiss on the cheek.

Apparently, the Cullens are a hugging family.

When he's finished, Edward plops on the couch beside Isabella, so close he's practically in her lap, and throws an arm along the back, right above Isabella's shoulders. Isabella barely resists the urge to flinch or roll her eyes.

Way to over-sell it.

"Irina was just telling us about her furniture design business," Esme supplies helpfully.

"Oh, really." Edward slants a nervous glance at Isabella.

"Yeah. Your dad graciously invited me to the garage to give you an apparently _much needed_ carpentry lesson, but I explained to him that I make things out of _wicker._" She shoots Edward a significant glance at the last word, figuring that if she had to go through this whole charade, they should at least have the same story.

"Right," Edward says, nodding. "Wicker. It's true—Irina wouldn't be able to use a saw to save her life—she just uh, weaves… things." He chuckles, a sort of nervous, abrupt noise that sounds more like a giggle than anything.

It's possible, Isabella realizes that Edward is a much worse liar than she is. It might prove to be entertaining, actually.

There's a short, awkward silence before Esme starts updating Edward on what's been going on with the family and the town. She easily brings the rest of the group into the conversation, even Isabella, who she peppers with questions like, "Has Edward told you about his Aunt? She was recently in the hospital—nothing too serious, just a little anemia," or "Do you have any nieces or nephews? Edward mentioned you had siblings, but I don't recall if he said your sisters were married." At one point, she asks why Isabella (or rather, why _Irina_) didn't go home to her family for Christmas.

"Well, uh…" Isabella stalls, trying to come up with something. There is certainly a reason why she isn't visiting _her _parents, but she can't use that—too personal.

"She can't afford the drive." Edward jumps in. "You know, what with starting that new business and all, money is a little tight."

Isabella nods along. "Yeah. And the drive to Arizona is so long," she adds so it doesn't look like Edward is covering for her. "It doesn't seem worth it for just a few days." Arizona? Where did she get Arizona? Truth be told, she has no idea.

"Arizona? I thought you're from Alaska."

Edward panics—probably not for the last time this holiday—and averts his eyes, once again leaving Isabella to fend for herself.

Inwardly, Isabella winces. Apparently she should have just kept her mouth shut. "Yeah. But my, uh, grandparents are in Arizona, and the family drives out there for Christmas."

Edward can feel the fiery glare Isabella shoots him for just sitting there, but he's too much of a coward to do something about it. He really needs to work on that, he reckons.

"Oh," says Esme, nodding. "I see. It's nice that they drive all the way there to see them every year."

Isabella swallows. "Yeah."

Then Esme goes right back into news about the family. Isabella allows herself to be swept in it, barely comprehending the long list of cousins, step cousins, aunts and neighbors and their ailments and/or successes. Edward, she notices when she sneaks a glance at him, doesn't seem to be overwhelmed at all. And Rose, who Isabella knows from the brief overview of his family Edward gave in the car ride there, has only been married to Emmett for five years is nodding along, adding a few comments here, asking a few questions there, like she has known all the people mentioned—every single one—all her life.

The conversation is thankfully brought to a stop when the front door is opened and a young female voice calls out, "We're back! And we brought food!" Shortly after, what looks to be a walking stack of cardboard and Styrofoam boxes comes into the room. Esme and Rose immediately get up to help out, and Isabella takes the moment to turn a wide-eyed stare at Edward.

"Jesus, you have a lot of family," she hisses underneath her breath.

Edward smiles and shrugs a little. "Yeah, I know. You'll meet some of them tomorrow for Christmas Eve."

Isabella can't help the look of horror on her face, imagining the room cram packed with Cullens, all enthusiastic and curious, giving her question after question she couldn't possibly answer. Already feeling claustrophobic, Isabella barely gets out the strangled, "_All _of them?" that forces its way out of her throat.

Edward shakes his head. "Nah, most of Dad's family is in Illinois. Tomorrow it's just going to be my grandmother on my mom's side and a few cousins. Maybe an uncle or two."

Isabella nods. Right. An uncle or two. And cousins. Grandparents. She can handle that—sure she can handle that.

Not for the first time, Isabella curses both Jake and Edward Cullen.

* * *

**Thoughts?**

**-Jess**


	10. Chapter 10

**Thank you Cara for the pre-reading! xo**

* * *

**10.**

Just then two little kids run into the room, one boy with dark hair who can't be more than four years old, and a little blonde girl who seem to be just a little younger than him.

"Uncle Eddie!"

Edward's face breaks out into a grin that Isabella hasn't seen on him before, wide, white teeth and crinkling eyes and dimples. Isabella blinks, surprised at the change from the nervous, slightly uneasy man she has sent the last six hours with.

"Hey!" Edward says, voice sickeningly sweet and kid friendly. "There's my two favorite people in the whole world!" He jumps up from the couch and lunges at the kids, scooping them both up, one under each arm, and starts to spin them around.

The little girl lets out a squeal. "Uncle Eddie, put me down!"

"Never!" Edward shouts, still spinning them, and Isabella has to dodge one tiny clad foot as it races towards her face.

"Irina, right?" comes a voice from his right. Isabella forces a smile and turns to face the owner. _Yeah, that's going to get old fast. _The young woman who brought the food in is standing by Isabella's end of the couch. With the light brown hair, hazel eyes and dimples, Isabella can only assume it's Edward's sister, an assumption that is confirmed when she holds out one hand with a bright, "Hey, I'm Alice."

Isabella, raised to be polite, stands up to take it. "Irina," she forces out, "but you already know that. Edward's talked a lot about you." It's true. During the briefing Edward gave about his family, he spent the most time on his sister, mostly to warn Isabella away from her.

"She's the one I talk to the most," he'd said, "and I gave her and Jasper hell when they got together, so she's going to want a little payback. Be careful around her."

Now, shaking her hand as this young girl—who can't be more than nineteen—smiles up at her, Isabella can't help but think Edward had been exaggerating. That is, until: "Yeah, Edward talked a lot about you too. But you know, from the way he described you, I thought you'd look different."

Isabella's hand twitches a little in the handshake she hasn't let go of yet. "Oh really?" she asks, eyes flickering past her to where Edward is now. He's busy hatting with the man who came in with Alice—Jasper, she thought—across the room, and still holding on to the kids. His smile feels frozen on his face.

"Yeah. I could have sworn he said your eyes were blue."

Isabella forces a chuckle. "Well, you know, it's an easy thing to mistake. People forget little details like that all the time."

She hums slightly, a small frown appearing between her brows. She's still holding on to Isabella's hand and staring intently at her eyes, which is starting to get a little _uncomfortable. _"Edward usually doesn't," Alice finally says, giving Isabella a slight smile and at last dropping her hand.

Isabella watches as Alice crosses the room to Edward, who finally puts the kids down so he can wrap his long arms around her. "Allie!" he yells out, that huge grins still on his face. Over his shoulder, Alice is smiling just as wide, dimples deep and innocent looking.

_Be careful around her__, i__ndeed. _

"Oh, don't mind Alice, Irina." Esme smiles kindly at her from the coffee table, where she's opening pizza and barbecue boxes. "She's just giving you a hard time because of Edward. He's made it a point to torture all of her boyfriends since the eighth grade. She's just paying him back for that."

"That's what he told me," Isabella mutters a little ruefully. Esme chuckles and starts to pour drinks for everyone. "Here, let me help you with that." She grabs the package of plastic cups and rips it open. After pouring the cups of Mountain Dew and Coke, she glances at Edward, who's still in an in-depth conversation with his siblings and Jasper. Charming smile firmly in place, Isabella turns to Esme. "Could you tell me where the restroom is?"

"Oh, of course. There's one right down the hall." She waves a hand in the opposite direction of the front door. "It's on the left, opposite the kitchen. And there's another one up the stairs, second door to your right."

Isabella thanks her, casts one last glance at Edward, and leaves the room.

She goes back to the foyer, then up the stairs, keeping her feet quiet and muffled on the carpet of the steps. She listens hard as she goes up, waiting for Edward to notice she's missing and come marching through the house to keep tabs on her. He doesn't though, and Isabella lets out a sigh of relief when she gets to the top of the staircase, eyes immediately zeroing in on the phone sitting on a small secretary stand in the hallway, between two bedroom doors. In a few short strides she's across the hall, picking up the handset. The dial tone rings like a promise in her ear and she wastes no time dialing the one person she knows will always pick up.

"Yeah?" comes the drawl of her best friend over the line.

Isabella lets out a breath she didn't even realize she was holding. "Riley, man, I need your help."

* * *

***snickers* what's she up to?**

**-Jess**


	11. Chapter 11

**Happy Holidays!**

**Thank you to the lovely Cara for the pre-reading! xo**

* * *

**11.**

"Hey, Isabella. What's up? And who's number are you using?"

"I'm in trouble, Riley." Isabella mutters quietly, glancing over her shoulder at the stairs.

"What?" Riley's voice went from lazy and bored to sharp and alert in a second. "What kind of trouble?"

"Big trouble. I—" There's a short bang from downstairs, like something falling over and someone laughs. Isabella glances nervously over her shoulder again. She can hear the voices of Edward's family, the words mumbled and indistinct, but not far. "Look, I can't go into it right now. I just need you to do me a favor. All right?"

"Isabella." Riley all but growls. "Tell me what's going on."

"I don't have time, Riley!" she snaps. "Now listen, it's important. I need you to get a hold of James for me. I'd do it myself but I don't have my cell with his number. Get a hold of James and tell him he needs to find a guy named Jake. A Jake, uh, Black." Or at least that's what she thinks Edward had called him, when he was yelling at the guy in his kitchen back in Seattle, snapping his name out with enough ease and irritation you'd think he was the guy's mother. Isabella had thought at the time about how sloppy her kidnappers were, letting out their real names like that. Now she's just grateful. "Jake Black," she repeats. "He should be in Seattle somewhere. You got that?"

"Yeah, I got it," Riley grumbles. "But who is he? And why do you need him?"

"I don't have time to tell you." She says again. "Just tell James to find him and hold him. Don't let him out of his sight. I'll be there in three days, and I'll need the cops waiting."

Riley sucks in a breath. "Jesus, Isabella. What have you got yourself into?"

Isabella lets out a slightly hysterical chuckle. "You have no idea." She takes a deep breath and doesn't say anything for a long moment, bringing one hand up to pinch the bridge of her nose. The stress of the whole situation is catching up to her, and she needs a moment to just breathe.

"Isabella," Riley says softly. "Tell me where you are. Wherever it is, I'll come get you."

For a second, Isabella considers letting him do just that. Riley has always been Isabella's rock. The person who, when Isabella would screw up or break down or just need someone to talk to, would drop everything and make sure she was all right. He'd been the sole reason that Isabella had gotten through the whole ordeal with her family in the last couples years, and the urge to just say fuck it to this whole thing—to Edward, to Jake, to the Cullen family and the farce she's starring in, and hell, even to the money—and let Riley come here and take over like he used to is strong.

But she promised herself she wouldn't let Riley do that anymore. Besides, Isabella knows that Riley's family had come down from Vancouver to visit him for Christmas, and Isabella doesn't want to screw that up.

Someone should get to be with their family for this damn holiday.

"No," Isabella finally sighs. "Just pass that message along to James. Make sure he knows it's important."

"Isabella, no. If you're in trouble, I'll come get you. _Just tell me where you are._"

The last sentence is hissed out, Riley barely concealing the underlying fear in his voice, and for a moment Isabella reconsiders. "I…" She hesitates.

_"Where are you going, Eddie?"_

Isabella startles, throwing a panicked glance down the stairs from where Emmett's voice is coming from, close enough for the words to be distinct.

_"Just checking on Irina. She's been in the bathroom for a while."_

Isabella sucks in a breath as she hears footsteps heading for the direction of the stairs.

"Riley," she whispers hurriedly, "I gotta go. Tell James, and don't try to call me. I'll call again if I can."

"Isabella, no, wait—" Riley starts, but Isabella cuts him off.

"I'm sorry. I have to go." She hangs up the phone just as she hears footsteps on the stairs, and it's with no small amount of panic that she starts looking around the hall, trying to figure out which door leads to the bathroom. An open door to the right shows the dark outline of a sink and Isabella barely gives herself time to let out a sigh of relief before she dashes across the hallway and through it, turning on the light and closing the door just as the footsteps reach the top of the stairs.

"Isabella?" he hears through the door, quiet, like Edward thinks his family might hear him use Isabella's real name even though they're a floor apart.

She turns the water on, full blast, so that the sound of it hitting the sink could be clearly heard and stares at her reflection in the mirror. Wide eyes and pale skin, black sweater—the only shirt she'll be wearing that's hers during this little family get together. She bites her lip, and wills her heart beat to slow, to forget about the close call.

Thirty seconds longer on the phone and Riley could've been on his way here.

"Isabella?" Edward calls again, and Isabella lets the irritation and anger take over her, approves of the scowl that transforms her expression, eyes narrowing back into a glare, lips tightening in frustration, skin flushing. She shuts off the water with a jerk and grabs the door handle, roughly jerking the door open.

"What?" she snaps.

Edward looks at her closely, lingering on her—too dry—hands then past her and into the bathroom. "You've been in there a long time," he says, expression a weird conglomeration of suspicion, nervousness and guilt.

It doesn't look good on him, Isabella thinks meanly.

"Yeah, well, we didn't exactly stop at a rest stop on the way here," Isabella says caustically.

Edward bites his lip and looks away, the guilt taking over his expression. "Yeah. Sorry about that," he mutters.

Isabella shrugs and smiles, baring her teeth. "Hey, no problem, man. I mean what were you going to do, cuff me to the toilet?" She takes vicious satisfaction in the way the muscles in Edward's jaw twitches at that.

"Right." Edward grinds out behind clenched teeth. "Well, we should probably get back downstairs."

"Oh, by all means," Isabella says with cheerful sarcasm, the sharp, angry smile feeling good on her face. "I wouldn't want to keep my _boyfriend's_family waiting would I?" She doesn't wait for Edward to respond, just shoulders past him in the small hallway and stomps towards the stairs.

She's done. Done with this whole ridiculous situation. Edward's footsteps are close behind her on the steps, and Isabella clenches her fists at her sides, filled with a sense of grim determination.

Like hell is she staying here for even one full day, let alone three.

* * *

**who thinks she will find a way out? and who thinks she'll stick around for way more than just 3 days?**

**-Jess**


	12. Chapter 12

**Another one... and of course, thank you to Cara for the pre-reading! xo**

* * *

**12.**

"Well, here it is." Edward opens the door and gestures at the inside. Isabella takes a step into the bedroom, her face the closed off, the distantly pissed expression she'd taken to wearing whenever not around Edward's family. She looks around, taking in Edward's childhood room in silence—the wooden desk in the corner that became too small for him by the ninth grade, the bookshelf still crammed with summer reading and college text books, the shelves on the wall with his soccer trophies and speech contest medals, the small TV with the dust covered Nintendo 64 sitting on top, and lastly, lingeringly, on the full size bed shoved against one wall.

Judging by Isabella's expression as she stares at it, her mind is caught on the exact same thought Edward's is.

It's going to be a tight fit.

Edward clears his throat uncomfortably and closes the door. "Uh, here." He walks to the bed and grabs one of the big black tote bags he'd packed. "This one has your things in it."

"Not my things," Isabella replies, eyes still on the bed. Finally, she forces her eyes away from the neatly arranged dark blue blankets and pillows and meets Edward's gaze. "I'll take the floor," she says firmly.

Edward sighs and drops the bag back on the mattress. "You can't," he wearily grunts. "My family has a habit of just barging into my room. They'll definitely ask questions if they come in and you're sleeping on the floor."

Isabella clenches her jaw and takes a deep, noisy breath through her nose. Edward can see her fists clenching and unclenching at her sides. "Fine," she grits out. "But I get the side away from the wall." She doesn't wait for Edward to object—not that he was going to—roughly grabbing the bag Edward had indicated from the bed and stalking to the door, every stiff, jerky gesture suggesting suppressed violence. "I'm changing in the bathroom," she snaps, and just barely refrains from slamming the bedroom door.

Edward lets out another sigh and collapses on the bed, cradling his head in his hands.

When Isabella comes back ten minutes later, dressed in the sweats and t-shirt Edward had bought her at Wal-Mart, Edward's already in bed, pressed as far up against the wall as possible. He sees Isabella pause in the doorway, her shoulders moving slowly up and down in another one of those deep calming breaths, then she closes the door and drops the bag on the desk. She doesn't say anything—doesn't look at Edward as she stiffly lies down on the other side of the bed, as close the edge as she can get. Even with the small size of the bed and the fact neither of them are exactly small, there's a good foot between them. Edward thinks it's a little ridiculous, but he doesn't shift closer. Isabella is already so tense beside him that Edward wonders if she's gonna pull something, just lying there on her back, staring at the ceiling and looking like she'd give anything just to will this whole situation away.

Edward huffs out a breath and rolls over on to his stomach, ignoring Isabella's automatic flinch at the movement. He thinks vaguely about apologizing again, or assuring her that he's not going to try anything now that they are in the same bed—that he isn't that type of person, kidnapping aside, but he knows it won't do any good. Besides, he's tired. It seems like he hasn't slept, really slept, since before Irina told him she was leaving—_sorry about Christmas, Edward, maybe I'll see you again if I'm ever back in the US_—and this whole day had been beyond stressful. He loves his family, he really does, but it's tiring being around them on a normal day, always smiling and cheerful, always pushing himself to be what they expect him to be, to give what they want from him. Add a complete stranger pretending to be his girlfriend—a stranger that he kidnapped and has to watch her every move to make sure nothing looks suspicious—and Edward is downright exhausted.

Isabella's breathing is perfect and even beside him, if perhaps a little louder than he would probably want, and she hasn't so much as twitched since that accidental flinch when Edward moved. The sounds of the house are familiar and comforting, reminding him of the years he spent falling asleep to the hum of the heat vents and the low rumble of the TV in his parents' room every night when he was a kid, and it isn't long until Edward is fast asleep.

When he wakes up it's still dark, and he's cold. He rolls over, shifting away from the chilly wall and dragging the rest of the blankets up and around his shoulders. It takes him a few moments for his brain to fuzzily realize he shouldn't have been able to do that, but it's the sudden thump and muffled curse that makes him remember why.

He jerks upright and looks around the room, noticing two things right away.

The window is open.

Isabella's gone.

* * *

***snickers***

**-Jess**


	13. Chapter 13

**Here we go... sloppy kisses, and thank yous to Cara for the pre-reading! xo**

* * *

**13.**

"Shit!"

Flinging back the covers, he jumps out of bed and rushes to the window. The roof above the kitchen is right below it, and when Edward was a teenager he used to sneak out of the house at night with its help. He doesn't doubt that Isabella noticed how little of a drop it is to the ground, and sure enough, when Edward peers into the backyard he sees the vague, shadowy outline of a woman running around the corner of the house.

Shit. Shit, shit and _fuck._

He scrambles to get his shoes, shoving his feet in without bothering to tie the laces, and heads back to the window. As an afterthought, he rips open his bag and grabs the handcuffs.

Crawling through the window and onto the roof isn't as easy as he remembers. It's been years since he's had to do this, and he nearly loses his balance twice, scrapes his palms open on the rough shingles, and bangs his knee on the side of the house as he eases down. He can't help the automatic grunt he makes as he lands hard on the ground, and he just prays that his family stays asleep.

This would be much harder to explain than Isabella sleeping on the floor.

He runs to the front of the house, scanning the streets for any sign of Isabella, and breathes a sigh of relief when he sees her. Isabella is walking briskly in the direction of town, hands in her pockets, head ducked, like she's trying to be as inconspicuous as possible. She obviously doesn't know that Edward noticed her gone, or else she'd be running.

They passed a gas station on the way here, and it looks to Edward like that's where Isabella's heading to. Probably to use the phone. Maybe call the police.

Edward feels his throat close up at the thought.

He ducks behind the neighbor's house, running from backyard to backyard in an attempt to catch up without Isabella noticing. The easiest way to get to the gas station is through the neighborhood park, and Edward knows the short cut.

He catches up to Isabella just as she is jogging past the swing sets. Edward speeds up, jumping over the corner of the sandbox and into the center of the park. Isabella has just enough time to turn at the sound—her dropped jaw and wide eyes just barely visible from the streetlights across the park—before Edward leaps at her, tackling her to the ground.

Thank God he played football as well as soccer in high school.

They land hard on the grass. Isabella flails a little at an attempt to break her fall and Edward grunts as one elbow knocks him in his stomach, hard. He doesn't take a moment to get his breath back though, immediately pulling up and shoving Isabella onto her stomach, straddling her backside.

"_Jesus!_" Isabella gasps out. "What the fuck is wrong with you? Are you crazy? Get off me!" She struggles against Edward's hold, trying to buck him off, but Edward grabs both her arms and leans his weight on them, pinning them to the ground.

Huh. Maybe he should have done wrestling in high school as well.

"Get off!" Isabella yells again. She twists her shoulders and kicks out her legs, one arm coming free to elbow Edward in the collarbone.

"Ow, shit!" Edward squeezes his thighs in a tighter bracket around Isabella's small frame, making her squirm and grunt. He manages to grab the arm, pulling it up and back against Isabella lower back. "Be quiet," he snaps. "Do you want to wake the whole town up?"

"Yes! Yes, actually I do." Isabella growls. Her face is pressed into the grass and she angles her head over her shoulder to try to glare at Edward. "I want the whole fucking town to wake up and see what a crazy, psychotic, _pathetic_ kidnapper you are."

"Crazy and psychotic are the same thing," Edward tells her, digging into the pocket of his sweatpants for the handcuffs. Isabella just growls again and fights him even more. "Besides," he says over Isabella's increasingly vicious curses, "I grew up here. Everyone in the neighborhood knows me and trusts me. They'll believe anything I tell them. Even Waylon."

He feels like shit just for saying the words. Low. Lower than Jake, even. But he's desperate, which seems to be the running theme this Christmas.

"Who the fuck is Waylon?"

"The guy who owns the gas station down the street. He's the only one who works it this late."

Isabella stops fighting at that, going limp against Edward's hold and sinking into the ground. Edward eases up a little, lets her catch her breath. "Fuck," Isabella mumbles into the grass.

Yes, Edward thinks. Exactly.

He grabs a hold of one of Isabella's wrists and—using his knee to keep the other one pinned—snaps the cuff on it. He considers handcuffing Isabella's other wrist as well, behind her back like in the cop shows, but then he imagines what that would look like to anyone awake and curious enough to go to their windows at this time of night. So, instead he slaps the cuff on his own wrist, linking them together. If they walk close enough, it'll just look like they're holding hands.

He doubts somehow, that Isabella would appreciate that thought.

With Isabella safely cuffed to him, Edward rolls off, flopping down onto his back and trying to catch his breath. The cuffs jingle as he moves and he has to stretch his arm out over Isabella's back so she can lie down.

"Get your arm off me," Isabella grumbles.

"You'll have to roll over for me to do that."

Isabella huffs in irritation, then groans as she rolls over. Their linked arms fall to the ground, resting between them.

"I hate you."

Edward sighs. "I know you do." He pauses for a moment, staring up at the sky and the yellow rails of the swing set above them. "I don't blame you."

Beside him, Isabella just grunts in answer.

* * *

**See you tomorrow!**

**-Jess**


	14. Chapter 14

**Thank you to the amazing Cara for the pre-reading! xo**

* * *

**14.**

The walk back is awkward and quiet, with a sullen, glowering Isabella and a dead-on-his-feet Edward. They're both bruised and dirt streaked, the scrapes on Edward's palms are stinging, and several times during the walk one or the other forgets about the handcuffs and make some sudden movement, jerking the other's arm and causing them to nearly trip.

Edward just wants to go back to sleep.

When they get back to the house, Edward doesn't even consider trying to go back through the window. He finds the spare key and lets them in through the front door. He practically drags Isabella—as quietly as possible—up the stairs and through the hallway to his room, barely pausing to kick off his shoes before he marches to the window—pulling a reluctant Isabella along—and slides it shut. Then he just flops faced down onto the bed, not even caring that the arm connected to Isabella is up in the air. "Lay down," he mumbles into the pillow.

Isabella pulls on the cuffs, jerking Edward's arm from side to side. "Dude," she says, "this does not work for me." Edward barely suppresses a frustrated whine.

"Just go to sleep already. I'm not taking them off so you can run away again."

He can feel the motion through their connected arms as Isabella huffs. "I'm not sleeping like this. I like to sleep on my back."

Edward buries his face further into the pillow. "Yeah, and I like sleeping on my stomach. So, tough. Now _get in._" He tugs on Isabella's arm.

Isabella tugs back. "_No._"

"Fine," Edward groans as he sits up. He leans over to the foot of the bed—nearly pulling Isabella down on top of him—and reaches for his bag on the floor. After a few moments of digging he finds it: the key. "C'mere."

Isabella comes just close enough that Edward can reach her wrist, keeping the rest of her body angled away from his, and Edward has to resist the urge to roll his eyes, fed up with Isabella's attitude. He's just too damn tired to feel sympathetic and guilty right now.

The handcuff releases Isabella's wrist with a click, but before she can so much as pull her hand back, Edward grabs her other one, snapping it on that wrist instead so they are cuffed on their left wrists. "There," he says, smiling. "Now you can lie on your back while I'm on my stomach. And you get the wall this time." He stands up and stretches his hand to the ceiling, placing the key on one of the blades of the still ceiling fan there. "So you can't get it while I'm sleeping," he says brightly in response to Isabella's glower, visible even in the poor lighting. "Now, _sleep._"

He doesn't allow Isabella to object, practically shoving her onto the bed before crawling in after her. He pulls the covers over both of them and buries his face in the pillow once more. Beside him, Isabella is shifting and twitching, trying to get comfortable while putting as much distance as the cuffs will allow, but Edward just lets out a soft sigh, ignoring her.

For the second time that night, Edward slides easily into sleep.

* * *

***giggles* some of you are really getting mad at E... have faith... we're only about half way through...**

**-Jess**


	15. Chapter 15

**Thanks to Cara for the pre-reading! xo**

* * *

**15.**

Edward wakes up in a state of bliss. He's more comfortable than he can ever remember being. The bed is warm and comfortable, he's surrounded by the scents and smells he instinctively recalls as _home_, and his arm is wrapped around something soft that's practically radiating heat. He scoots closer to that warmth, pressing his nose into the soft hair brushing his face and taking a deep breath, letting it out a contented "hmmm."

He's slipping happily back asleep when the body he's wrapped around shifts, then stiffens in his arms. He gasps and jerks awake as an elbow is abruptly thrust into his stomach, followed swiftly by a knee as Isabella scrambles to get away from him.

"Hey," he gasps, stretching one hand out towards Isabella, "what are you…"

She knocks Edward's hand away. "Let me go, you freak. Just—" Edward lets out a soft _ooaf _as Isabella hurriedly crawls over him, trying to get off the bed and away from Edward.

There's a faint _chink _of the handcuffs before the tug on Edward's arm. "Isabella, wait—" Too late. She practically leaps off the bed, jerking Edward after her.

They fall to ground in a tangle of sheets and limbs, Edward on top of Isabella, and for the fourth time in the last eight or so hours, Edward gets another body part of Isabella's lodged into his gut.

He's going to be seriously bruised after all this.

Isabella shoves at him. "Get _off _me," she hisses.

Edward tries to sit up but one violent jerk from Isabella knocks Edward back down again.

"I'm _trying,_" he snaps. "This is your fault, you know. If you would just stop freaking out."

"Oh right. Like I'm supposed to be calm when my _kidnapper _starts molesting me in my sleep."

"I wasn't _molesting _you, God."

"What do you call it, then? You were wrapped all around me, and you were _nuzzling_ my goddamned _neck!_"

"I didn't mean to! I was asleep for fuck's sake."

Isabella rolls her eyes. "Right. I'm supposed to believe that. Just." She gives the hand with cuffs a good tug. "Get. This. Off. Me."

Edward huffs and tries to kick off the sheets wrapped around his legs. "I will, all right? Just stop flailing so I can stand up and get the—"

_"Oh my god."_

Shocked at the voice, they immediately still. Edward jerks his head over his shoulder to face the door. It's open, and standing in the doorway, eyes locked unerringly on the cuffs linking Edward and Isabella together, is his brother.

"Uh…" Edward gapes at his brother, then down at Isabella, taking in what it must look like—their faces flushed and breathing harsh from exertion, Isabella's t-shirt rucked up and Edward straddling one of Isabella's thighs, chests pressed almost intimately close and wrists locked together by handcuffs. "Um, I can—this isn't what it looks like," he stutters out.

Emmett slowly raises his eyes from the handcuffs to meet Edward's gaze. He smirks. "I don't know what's kinkier, the handcuffs or the fact that you're doing it at Mom and Dad's house with only a wall separating you from their bedroom."

Edward flushes and groans, ducking his head and pressing his face against the arm he has braced on the floor. Under him, Isabella tenses as he inadvertently brings their faces closer together. Edward sighs. "Just go away, Emmett."

"Hey, hey," his brother soothes, voice mocking. "I didn't mean to interrupt. I was just told to come up here and get you down for breakfast. I'll tell them you'll be a while, eh, champ?" He snickers.

Edward sighs again, idly watching as the skin on Isabella's neck twitches as his breath huffs against it. "Whatever. Just go."

"All right. Just try to keep it down. I have kids here, remember."

The door shuts with a click and Edward sits up, finally managing to rid himself of the sheets tangled around his legs. He rolls off Isabella and sits down on the floor, burying his face in his free hand. "Oh God. He's never going to let me live this down. I'm going to hear about this at family gatherings for _years._"

Beside him, Isabella lets out a soft sound, and the arm connected to Edward's starts to shake. Edward lowers his hand and stares at her, eyes widening as he realizes that Isabella is _laughing._

She's practically giggling. "I can't believe that just happened. Oh God_, your face._" She shoots a look at Edward's still flushed face and bursts into another round of uncontrollable chuckles.

Edward just stares at her for a moment, shocked. Then the sheer ridiculousness of the morning catches up to him and suddenly he's laughing too, tilting his head back and chuckling so hard tears start streaming down his face. He starts to lift a hand to wipe them away, but it's the one handcuffed to Isabella and the tug on their wrists just sends them both back into hysterics. After a few minutes he manages to calm down, taking a deep breath and slanting a look at Isabella, still smiling.

His breath catches in his chest.

Edward had thought Isabella was attractive immediately when he'd opened his door and saw her, but like this—lying back on the floor, limbs loose and relaxed, free from all the stiff tension she'd been carrying around since Jake had cuffed her and started this whole thing, the scattered freckles along her nose bright against the flush of his face, smile wide and sincere, hair a mess—she's gorgeous, and Edward is hit with a sudden longing.

He suddenly wishes it was real, this relationship. He wishes that he really was bringing his girlfriend Isabella to meet his parents, that he got to wake up to a sight like _this _every morning.

That Isabella didn't hate him.

Edward sighs, mirth gone. "Come on," he mutters. "We better get down there before Emmett decides to tell everyone exactly why he thinks we're late." He stands, reaching out the cuffed hand to grab a hold of Isabella's wrist and haul her up. He stretches his other arm up toward the fan, searching for the key.

He's too lost in his own thoughts to notice that Isabella doesn't immediately jerk her hand away, like usual.

* * *

***snickers***

**-Jess**


	16. Chapter 16

**As always, thanks to Cara for the pre-reading! xo**

* * *

**16.**

Breakfast is apparently a big deal in the Cullen household. Actually, Isabella thinks, judging by the enthusiasm and sheer _joy_with which the meal last night had been consumed, food in general is a big deal for the Cullens. Everyone is awake and at the table for breakfast, despite the fact that it's only eight o'clock, an ungodly—in Isabella's opinion—hour to be awake at.

But the coffee is good, hot and strong and black, and Isabella practically moans in pleasure as she gulps her first cup down. Rose raises her eyebrows at her as she watches her inhale the drink, but Esme just takes the empty mug and refills it, handing it back to Isabella with a smile.

There's enough food to feed twenty people, let alone ten. Or at least that's what Isabella thinks until she sees it all—the waffles, and the pancakes and the eggs and bacon and toast and the assorted fruit in the bowl at the center of the table—disappear. She scans the table, taking in the Cullen men. Edward has to be about 6"4', and he's broad-shouldered and built. Isabella's bruises from last night's tackle can certainly attest to that. Emmett is only slightly taller, maybe an inch or so—just as muscular—and Carlisle is obviously the man Edward and Emmett took after in both height and build. So, Isabella supposes they really need all that food. Hell, even Alice, who's short and petite, can stow away so much food that it looks impossible, and Isabella decides they must all have very high metabolism.

Another reason to dislike them.

Except she finds it hard to dislike Edward's mom when she takes one look at the portion of food on Isabella's plate—not what she'd consider meager, by any means—and tuts disapprovingly, stabbing two more flapjacks from the plate in the center and placing it on her plate with a warm smile, following it up with an extra slice of bacon. It reminds her too much of her own mom, before Dad made it big and her parents started taking themselves too seriously, back when she used to cook, and… Isabella can't help but smiling warmly at Esme, picking up the bacon with her fingers and taking a bite. It crumbles hot, greasy and satisfactorily in her mouth.

Beside her, Edward shifts uncomfortably and Isabella looks up at him, seeing a blush on his face. She looks curiously around the table, trying to figure out what might have caused it and catches Emmett's eye across the table. Emmett smirks at her.

Oh.

Isabella gives a smirk of her own and snorts a little, remembering the scene upstairs, and Edward's face. It's hard to take your kidnapper seriously when he looks so humiliated at his brother catching him in a somewhat risqué position. Edward hears the snort, and probably guessing what it was about, sends her a little glare. Isabella just picks up her knife and starts cutting into her pancakes, still smiling.

"So, Irina," Edward's sister, Alice pipes up from her spot across from him, and Isabella's smile turns wary. "Edward told us you do yoga."

"Uh," Isabella flashes a glance at Edward, who looks slightly panicked. "Yeah?"

"Great!" she exclaims. Isabella thinks there's something vaguely predator-like about her smile. "So, you can join me when I do my morning yoga routine."

Isabella trades a look from Edward—yup, definitely panic there—to Alice's fiancé Jasper, who's giving her a look very close to pity, like Isabella's a woman about to volunteer to die. She takes a deep breath and wonders just what she's getting herself into. "Sure," she tells Alice, forcing the word out with a tight smile.

They clear an area in the living room, opening the blinds on the patio doors to let sunlight stream through.

Isabella had changed back into the sweats she wore to bed, lingering in Edward's bedroom, trying to stall, but after a few minutes Alice was calling for her from the bottom of the stairs, and she had no other choice but to go down and meet her. When Alice smiled at her and sweetly asked, "Do you mind if we go through my normal Vinyasa sequence?" Isabella knew she was in trouble; she didn't even need to know what a Vinyasa was.

Now, Isabella's sweating and shaking on the floor, in the only position she'd ever consider doing on a regular basis—the corpse pose. Flat on her back, arms at her side, she stares at the stucco ceiling and focuses on breathing, trying her best to ignore the aching in her arms, legs, back, and hell, muscles she didn't even know existed.

Never again, she thinks.

Just a few feet away, Edward's sister mirrors the pose, breaths infuriatingly calm and even. "You had a lot more trouble with that than I expected," Alice says, rolling her head to the side so she can look at her.

Isabella grunts.

It's true. At the beginning it had been fine, the hip tilts weren't bad, the Cat Pose popped her back nicely, and she'd been expecting the Downward Facing Dog. The leg stretching poses had been uncomfortable, even borderline painful. She as fully convinced that the Pigeon Pose, a position where you stretch out one leg and fold the other one below you, touching your forehead to your ankle, should never be done by anyone, ever. But when they moved on to standing poses, she'd had a lot of trouble keeping her balance. Standing on one leg while pulling the back one behind you took a surprising amount of strength and endurance, and she almost fell on her face several times.

When she attempted the Crow Pose, she _did_fall on her face. Face smashed into the carpet, she had stared wearily as Alice managed it perfectly—palms flat on the ground, legs bent and braced on the back of her elbows so that her feet were in the air, whole body weight supported by her arms.

Crazy, that's what it was. She'd felt like she was witnessing a scene from the contortionist act in a _Cirque du Soleil_show.

She can see Alice still staring at her expectantly out of the corner of her eye, apparently waiting for a more satisfactory answer to the implied question than what she gave. She sighs, feeling the burn in her lungs as she releases the air. "I just started a little while ago," is her excuse. She doesn't know what exactly Edward told his family about Irina and her yoga habits, but fuck it; it's not like she can fake it anyway.

"Oh!" Alice bites her lip, actually looking sorry. "If I'd known that, I would have chosen an easier set of stretches." She gives Isabella a small smile. It's softer than what she's seen before, apologetic, and for a minute she reconsiders the possibility that Alice is actually the devil incarnate, as she'd been considering when Alice had been demonstrating the more…creative poses. "Why don't you quit for now. I'll do the next set of poses on my own."

_The next set?_

Isabella doesn't even try to hide her horror at the idea of more. "Yeah," she says, voice hoarse with relief. "I think that's a good idea."

She groans as she gets up, and practically limps out of the room. Behind her she hears Alice change the CD in the stereo, and as another round of soothing music starts to play, Isabella looks back to see her back on the floor, starting an awkward-looking pose where her legs go _over_ her head, soles placed flat on the ground above her forehead, twisting her body into an inverted _O._

"It's freaky, isn't it?"

Isabella startles at the voice, muscles complaining loudly at the jerk that goes through her body. She turns in the direction of the voice. Jasper is leaning against the doorway, a couple of water bottles in his hands, eyes on Alice, watching as she twists and contorts herself with a small smile on his face.

"Yeah." Isabella glances back at her. "Freaky's the word."

Jasper shakes his head. "You're braver than I am, volunteering to do that with her."  
Isabella raises one eyebrow at him.

"She's in the advanced class," Jasper explains. "She's looking for a position as a teacher, just for a part-time thing. Man, I went to one class with her, and I tell you, never again." He chuckles, shaking his head again.

Isabella shrugs and smiles at him.

"Oh, that's right. Edward said you're really getting into this yoga thing. So, I guess getting to the advanced class would be something you'd want, huh?"

"Well, I don't know about that," Isabella says awkwardly. "I think just knowing enough to be, uh, healthy and all sounds good to me." Really, she had no desire to take an advanced yoga class. At all.

Jasper nods genially, offering Isabella one of the water bottles in his hand. She takes it with a smile, gratefully chugging down the cool liquid.

"So, uh, you and Edward, huh?"

There's something off about his tone, and Isabella looks sharply at him. "Yeah…" she says warily, not sure where Jasper is going with this.

* * *

**ruh-roh shaggy!**

**-Jess**


	17. Chapter 17

**Thank you Cara for the pre-reading! xo**

* * *

**17.**

So far, everyone in Edward's family has seemed very tolerant and accepting of his—fake—relationship with Isabella, but what people say and mean are two different things, and it'd makes sense that Alice's fiancé, the new addition to the family, would be the one who had issues with it.

Not that she particularly cares if Edward's family gives her a hard time. She doesn't care much for Edward himself, period, kidnapper that he is. But, she can't help feeling a little nervous.

"Alice tells me it's been a while since Edward's ever introduced anyone to the family, so you guys must be pretty serious." His eyes flicker nervously past Isabella to Alice and then back again, and Isabella relaxes.

Ah. So Jasper's just digging for information. Probably on Alice's orders. That, Isabella can handle.

"Well, you know, it's only been a couple months." Isabella tells him, smiling her best charming smile, the one she'd used when negotiating for her clients. "But yeah, I'd like to think we're heading that way, sure."

Jasper grins and leans a little more against the doorway, responding to Isabella's easy tone and smile, hoping to get more information now that Isabella has shown she's amenable to talking. "So how'd you guys meet, anyway?"

At this, Isabella inwardly grimaces. Edward had gone over his and Irina's backstory on the way to the house, but she still doesn't feel comfortable parroting it out, just in case what she says contradicts what Edward had told them all. "At a health food store near where I live."

"A health food store? Edward?" Jasper asks, eyebrows raised, and Isabella has to wonder how much about Irina Edward _did_tell his family. It would explain why Alice was going through so much trouble to get information about their relationship. Then again, the surprise could have been feigned.

"Yeah. It's a small place, mostly regulars, and I hadn't seen him around before—" because Isabella doesn't frequent health food stores. She'd take a good steak and loaded baked potatoes over tofu and lentils any day, thank you. "—so I struck up a conversation. Turns out he'd been sent there by a girl he was dating to pick up something for dinner."

Those eyebrows went up again. "He was dating someone else when you met him?"

"Apparently it wasn't anything serious. Anyway, I liked him, so I gave him my number, told him to call me." All in all it was a pretty boring "how they got together" story, or at least Isabella thought so. She supposed it might have been a bit more exciting for Edward. And Irina, probably. Maybe.

Well. The woman did flee the country.

"You just gave him your number, just like that? But he was with a girl did you even know if he was interested?"

Isabella smirks at him, tossing the water bottle from hand to hand. "Usually you can tell. And even when you can't…" Isabella carelessly shrugs one shoulder. "Sometimes you just have to put yourself out there anyway." That part is true, at least, or had been, anyway. Isabella certainly hasn't been doing too much of that here recently. Too busy.

Jasper stares at Isabella in real surprise this time, like Isabella was something he'd never seen before. "So, you just go and 'put yourself out there' and hit on any man you want even if you don't know whether or not he's interested or single."

"Yeah." And boy did it used to get her in a lot of trouble. Her father had _loved_ that. "I'm not about to hide who I am for anything." _Never in a million years would she wreck a relationship, but simply putting yourself out there and show the one you're interested in that you're available? Sure! Why not? Guys do it all the time_. Isabella pauses to take a deep breath before she continues, "For anyone."

_Hypocrite_, her mind whispers to her, reminding her sharply of just how much she is hiding from these people. They don't even know her real _name f_or Christ's sake.

Jasper shakes his head again, reaching out to pat Isabella on the shoulder. "Like I said, braver than I am."

Feeling suddenly done with the conversation, and all the lies that come with it, Isabella forces a smile on her face and tilts her head in the direction of the stairs. "Well, I'm just sitting here sweating, and it's getting pretty gross. I'mma head up to the shower. Thanks for the water."

"No problem. Nice talking to ya, Irina."

_Irina._

The name leaves a bitter taste in the back of her throat, and it shouldn't, not really. The fact that these people don't know her real name shouldn't matter to her. She shouldn't _like _her kidnapper's family.

But she does, Isabella realizes as she heads up the stairs. Not even a full day here and Isabella likes them all, feels bad for lying to them. She pauses outside the upstairs bathroom as she lets that sink in.

Well, fuck.

Edward pops his head out of his bedroom. "Hey Isa—" he coughs "—uh, Irina. I have to go into town for a bit today. You wanna come with?"

Edward asks _you want to_ but Isabella knows he really means _you have to_, because there was no way he'd leave Isabella alone with his family, able to say anything or leave any time. And now that bitter taste is back in her mouth, this time accompanied by the familiar flood of anger and resentment.

Isabella welcomes the emotions with relief.

"Do I really have a choice?" she hisses to Edward, stalking past him and into the room. She roughly grabs the bag with her clothes off the desk chair and spins around, glowering. "I'm taking a shower before we leave. _You_—" she thrusts one finger in Edward's direction "—stay out of the bathroom while I'm in there."

She marches angrily out into the hall, ignoring Edward's muttered, "Like I would go in there."

The bathroom door shuts behind with a firm and satisfying click.

* * *

**:)**

**-Jess**


	18. Chapter 18

**Thank you to Cara for the pre-reading! xo**

* * *

**18.**

They take Edward's car out of the small neighborhood and into Port Angeles. On the way out of the house they're stopped by Esme who hugs them both and asks if Edward is going to visit some people named Quil and Leah. Edward just grins as he opens the door. "Of course, Mom. Gotta introduce Irina to them, don't I?"

Isabella isn't too thrilled with this. She's already met enough of Edward's friends with Jake, and if he's the shining example of who Edward likes to be around, then she doesn't want to meet anybody else. Besides, what kind of a name was Quil for a person, anyway?

At least this time, she thinks, as Edward pulls away from the sidewalk and into the street, Isabella isn't handcuffed to the door. Edward had paused halfway to the car, a thoughtful expression on his face as he stared at the passenger side door, but Isabella hadn't let him consider going upstairs for the cuffs. She'd hopped right in the car and slammed the door shut. Shrugging, Edward had followed.

They're driving through the town now. Isabella has been to Port Angeles before, but Edward doesn't seem to have any intention of heading to the downtown area. Instead he's driving away from the _Olympic Cellars Winery _and the other tourist spots and closer to the edge of the city.

"So, where are we going, anyway?" Isabella asks when she finally gets too curious to remain silent.

Edward looks surprised—probably because the last time they spent in the car Isabella had made it a point to speak to Edward as little as possible—but answers readily enough. "I'm picking out my mom's Christmas gift."

Figures. Christmas Eve and the guy hasn't even bought his mother a Christmas gift yet. She snorts and goes back to staring out the windshield, taking in the street names as they pass them. Out the corner of her eye she sees Edward frown at her reaction, but he doesn't say anything.

They turn into a street filled with little shops—a second hand bookstore, an arts and crafts shop, what looks like a karaoke bar and a small diner. It's all a little too Ma and Pa to be any interest for tourists, but Isabella can tell that they're doing all right. They don't seem rundown or on the verge of closing, and there isn't an empty space or a "For Rent"_ s_ign to be seen. They park right out on the street and Edward leads Isabella to a shop on the corner, passing, Isabella notes with irony, a handmade wicker furniture store.

The shop they go into is an antique store, filled with old dolls and paintings, tarnished metal lamps and chandeliers with dangling, foggy crystals. There's a glass case filled with ceramic salt and pepper shakers, delicate figurines and costume jewelry. Rusty tin cans with antique logos on them sit on top, filled with old post cards, feathers and an assortment of colorful buttons. Isabella pauses at the case and reaches up to smooth the crinkled corner of a post card that caught her eye. There's a photo of a truck on the front. Isabella picks it up and looks closer: a '63 Chevrolet, its coat red and smooth, the chrome shining even through the faded ink of the card.

Edward doesn't stop to look at anything on the shelves, instead heading straight for the back of the store, and Isabella can't help but follow, curious despite herself. "Maggie? Are you there?" Edward calls out.

A door to what looks to be an office opens, and a woman leans out. She's heavy set, probably in her mid-fifties, with brilliant, curly red hair piled messily into a bun on top of her head. When she sees Edward, her face splits into a wide smile, eyes crinkling at the corners. "Edward! I've been waiting for you! How have you been?"

Edward's own smile is huge, dimples deep, as he walks forward and envelopes the woman in a hug. "I'm good. How are you? And Liam?"

The woman rolls her eyes as she steps away. "That man is going to drive me crazy," she complains, but there's a smile on her face. "He's decided that we need to build a two-car garage beside our house, like there's not enough room in the one we have already. I swear, he just wants something to keep him busy. Never could sit still, so retirement is making him nuts."

"You should make him come here sometime. I'm sure you could put him to work somewhere," Edward teases.

Maggie looks horrified. "Absolutely not! You've heard the phrase 'bull in a china shop?' Well that phrase was made for my husband. He'd destroy anything he came in contact with. So clumsy." She shudders dramatically and they both laugh. Isabella stands there awkwardly for a moment until Maggie finally catches sight of her behind Edward. "Well, Edward, aren't you going to introduce your friend?"

Edward turns his smile on Isabella. For once, it's not the bright, forced smile he'd been wearing every time someone in his family would ask about her, but softer, more sincere. "This is Isabella." He places a hand on Isabella's shoulder to guide her forward and she jumps a little, surprised at both the touch and the name.

Why wasn't she Irina to Maggie?

"She's going to help me figure out what to get my mom," Edward tells the woman brightly. He doesn't say the word "girlfriend," but Maggie's eyes linger on Edward's hand on Isabella's shoulder, thumb just grazing her collarbone and her smile is kind when she holds out her hand.

"I'm Maggie McManus. Pleased to meet you."

"You too, ma'am." Isabella shakes her hand with a smile.

Just like Esme did when Isabella met her, Maggie shakes her head. "Call me Maggie."

She nods her head. "All right. Maggie."

"Well." Maggie claps her hands together. "What are we waiting for? Come on up." She walks back through the door she came out of, leaving the door open.

"Up?" Isabella turns to Edward, brows furrowed in confusion.

* * *

**Oh... where could they be going?**

**-Jess**


	19. Chapter 19

**Thanks to the lovely Cara for pre-reading!**

* * *

**19.**

"Maggie uses the space above here. Siobhán—" he points to woman on the other side of the small store, sitting in an ancient rocking chair placed behind a till. "—owns the antique shop. She rents it out to Maggie."

So they weren't here for antiques? Just what were they here for, then?

Isabella follows Edward through the door which didn't lead, as she thought, to an office but a small hallway. There are two more doors after that, both open, one to a small bathroom, and the other to a set of steep, brightly lit wooden stairs. Edward gestures for Isabella to go on ahead of him and she does, tensing when Edward closes the door to the stairs behind them.

"Maggie doesn't like to be disturbed when she's with a client," Edward explains when Isabella shoots him a look over her shoulder, and she wonders again just what they were doing here.

She opens the door at the top of the stairs and steps through it, eyes widening as she takes in the sight before her. The top floor is made up of one long room, with big double-paned windows on both sides. There are no blinds or curtains, filling the room with natural light, glinting and bouncing off the items on the shelves and tables all around.

The room is filled with glass.

The tables taking up the center of the room are full of it, clear glass figurines of all shapes and sizes, smooth, colorful plates and bowls. There's a pitcher and bowl in the corner that looks like it's made out of water itself, the glass a beautiful transparent blue with swirls of aqua and light green running through it. Hanging above their heads are tiny glass baubles and huge, abstract chandeliers, some transparent, like the pitcher, others dark and opaque, the colors bright and vibrant in the sunlight. All of it, from the thick glass goblets to the delicate spun glass sail boat, are obviously hand made.

"Pretty impressive, huh?" Edward murmurs behind her. "I was looking for a gift for my—" He stops suddenly, a tight expression flickering across his face quickly before he gives his head a little shake and continues. "For…_someone_," he says, though Isabella has a feeling that wasn't what he originally meant. Whoever it was, it must be painful for Edward to think about, Isabella ponders, based on that brief expression.

But Edward seems to have immediately forgotten all about it, face smooth and relaxed as he looks around the room and continues with the story. "I was at a complete loss as to what to get, and a friend introduced to me to Maggie. She took me up here and I was completely blown away. I didn't even know it was possible to do the sorts of things she does with glass."

Isabella nods, staring at everything in the room. Impressive is an understatement.

They walk through the room, Isabella's attention flittering from item to item, until they reach the back where Maggie has set up a sort of workshop. She's standing behind a long scuffed table with a small furnace, a long rubber tube with a mouthpiece connected to it. Behind that are rows and rows of glass pipes in all different sizes and color, as well as an array of metal tools Isabella couldn't begin to decipher what they're used for. But what Maggie is leaning over now is a large sketchbook, a stubby graphite pencil in hand.

"All right, Edward," she says when they reach the table. "What do you have in mind this time?"  
For all that Edward said downstairs about Isabella helping him figure out what to get, Isabella isn't needed. Mostly because Edward doesn't even look to see if there's anything he likes on the shelves. Instead he goes into explaining what he wants, with big hand gestures and an excited gleam in his eyes. After a few minutes of listening intently to him, Maggie starts to sketch. Edward joins her around the table, peering over her shoulder, pointing at one thing here, suggesting something else there.

Isabella takes the time to look around the room. She's seen glass blowing before, of course, but never like this. Before it was always the same stuff: cheap looking roses made out of dyed red glass, or blue painted hummingbirds perched on a lily, a dangling heart with the word "Mom" written through it. Her father and she had bought her mom a glass figurine once. One of those water-filled Swans that are supposed to serve as a barometer. You clip off the tip of the beak and the colored water would rise up the neck whenever there was a storm. The shop they'd got it at had rows and rows of the same design, over and over again, so perfect and alike it was hard to believe that they had been individually hand made.

It wasn't like this. Maggie is an artist. No two designs are the same and they're all made with an extreme amount of detail. For the life of her, Isabella can't figure out what she is doing in a small, cramped room above a barely noticeable antique store.

Isabella looks over at Maggie and Edward. They're still bent over the sketchpad. Edward's completely absorbed, nodding along with whatever Maggie is murmuring, gesturing and pointing again at the page. Isabella frowns thoughtfully. This wasn't an unplanned, last minute gift for his mother. No, Edward had probably come to Port Angeles knowing that he was going to stop here for her gift. And from the way Maggie said "this time," and the mention at how she'd been waiting for him, Isabella would guess that Edward buys Esme's gift here every year, and probably put just as much effort into them as he's putting in now.

Unwillingly, Isabella's opinion of Edward shifts.

* * *

**Another one?**

**-Jess**


	20. Chapter 20

**Thanks to the lovely Cara for pre-reading!**

* * *

**20.**

Still frowning, Isabella moves away from the glass art and to the windows, staring down at the street below. She's not sure how long she stands there, but she's so lost in her own thoughts that she doesn't notice Edward come up. She can't help the small flinch she gives when he's suddenly there, beside her.

"Guess you got bored, huh?" Edward smiles apologetically. "Got a little carried away. Sorry about that. Maggie's just putting on the finishing touches and we'll leave."

He leans against the wall on the other side of the window, gazing through the glass. The sunlight turns Edward's skin gold, lighting up the side of his face with a soft glow, bringing out the green in his eyes. Edward's dimples are deep shadows in his face as he stares out the window at the street, his lips barely upturned in a small smile. Isabella stares at him, trying to pull up the irritation and hatred she feels for him to the forefront of her mind.

It's harder than it should be.

After he and Maggie haggle over prices for a bit—she kept trying to go lower; Edward insisted that it doesn't count as a gift if he gets it practically for free—she walks them downstairs and through the antique shop.

"So, I'll bring the check with me when I pick up the gift. Same time as usual?"

Maggie looks down at the sketchbook she's still holding in her hands. "Yeah. This shouldn't take me any longer than that." She grins up at him. "Your requests are always unique, but not too difficult."

Edward smiles back at her and gives her hug goodbye before they leave. "Say hello to Liam for me. Tell him I think the extra garage is a _great_idea."

She slaps his arm with the sketchbook. "Oh, just get out of here." She turns to Isabella. "It was nice meeting you. You should come back some time, let me design something for you."

Isabella takes her hand. "I just might. You are a fantastic artist, Maggie." She gives Maggie her most charming grin and Maggie's face goes red. She honest-to-God blushes and for a moment Edward thinks Isabella must have some kind of superpower. He's never seen Maggie flustered in all the seven years he's known her. Then Edward recalls a brief flash of Isabella laughing, head thrown back and eyes closed, lines crinkling around her eyes and, well, he gets it.

He's starting to understand that sometimes it's impossible _not _to be flustered around Isabella.

Goodbyes said, Maggie heads back upstairs to her workshop, and the pair wave goodbye to Siobhán, still sitting in the rocking chair. Outside the shop, they're quiet. Edward awkwardly shoves his hands into his pockets as he walks to the car, suddenly feeling self-conscious. While in the workshop he'd been too occupied with planning his mom's present to think about Isabella and how he'd forced her into being with him. He was so excited about his ideas and seeing Maggie again that he forgot, when he'd introduced her, that Isabella wasn't a friend, wasn't even someone who liked Edward.

Now, with Isabella walking silently beside him, pensive frown on her face, Edward feels highly aware of those facts.

"Why'd you call me Isabella?"

Edward stops. "What?"

"Inside. When you were introducing me to Maggie, you gave her my name instead of Irina's. Why?"

Was _that _what Isabella was frowning about? Edward had thought the woman would be glad to go by her own name for once.

"Maggie's my secret," Edward explains.

Isabella looks at him, confused. "Huh?"

He smirks. "No one in my family knows who Maggie is. The first time I ever gave my mom a present from there, she kept trying to get the name of who made it for me. I knew, from the way she loved it, that she wanted to buy more from her. But if she could buy the figurines herself, what would be the point of me giving them to her? So, I never told her, or anyone else in my family." Edward shoots Isabella a sidelong glance. "You've probably noticed that nobody can keep their mouth shut in my family. It didn't matter if she knew who you really were because she doesn't talk to my family, though she knows about them, and they don't talk to her, even though they know she exists."

Edward doesn't mention that it was nice, not having to lie to someone. That he could smile and introduce _Isabella_, not the woman Isabella was pretending to be. Nor does he talk about how all the lying is getting to him, that he can't stand the thought of trying to fool one more person he cares about.

Instead he shrugs and keeps talking about Maggie. "It's more of a joke between us than anything. If she really wanted to find out who made them, it wouldn't be too hard. Not many people around who have talent like Maggie's."

Isabella nods and starts walking again. "Yeah. I'm surprised she isn't up in New York somewhere, with her own art gallery doing commissions for rich people."

"She was."

Isabella stares at him in surprise, and Edward lifts one shoulder, grinning. "Maggie's the best kept secret around here. She was a big hotshot artist in New York City years ago. Her work was featured in several magazines and art journals, shown off in some of the most famous houses along the East Coast. Liam was her manager. That's how they met. Eventually she got tired of the big city and they moved back out here to Port Angeles, where she was born."

They've reached the car and Edward unlocks the front door as he continues speaking. "She made enough money off her art that they can both live in retirement. Now, she only does a few commissions here and there, mostly as favors for friends. What you saw up there? Was actually her personal collection. None of it's for sale." They get into the car and Edward starts it. Isabella's looking through the car window at the second floor of the antique shop.

"She must really love her work," Isabella muses thoughtfully.

Edward chuckles. "Yeah. She's no cynical, disillusioned artist. She just loves playing with glass. She'd give me my stuff for free if she could, but I insist on paying, even if it is less than a tenth of what it's worth. I mean, it's for my mom, you know?"

He looks over at Isabella as he pulls out of the parking lot to see her eyeing him with an expression Edward can't make out, and he shifts uncomfortably in the seat, realizing he's been rambling on for a while now. He coughs. "Anyway. Now that we're done here I thought we'd go see Quil and Leah."

"Great. After Jake I'm just _dying_ to meet more of your friends."

Edward flicks her a surprised glance, seeing her glowering out the window again and smirks. "Well, I'm sure you'll love them. They're the best friends a man could ask for."

"Right," Isabella says sarcastically.

* * *

**See you next time!**

**-Jess**


End file.
